A Twin's Promise
by anakinluver91
Summary: A classic tale of forbidden love. Bella Swan, a young American girl, falls head over heels in love with Edward Cullen, a British officer, with a dark past, during the American Revolutionary War.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

"_The Past - the dark unfathomed retrospect! The teeming gulf -the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?" - Walt Whitman_

"Jasper, what about us?" the woman shrieked.

"There is no us!" he snarled his handsome face full of malice.

"What's come over you? Just last week you told me…"

"Told you what? That I'd take care of the bastard? Marry you?"

The young woman fell back against the tree, her body shuddering with violent sobs.

"You told me that you loved me!"

Grasping at his hair like a lunatic, Jasper said, "I was caught up in the moment! I didn't know what I was saying!"

"What am I going to do?" the woman asked, placing a hand over her lower abdomen.

"You're resourceful…figure it out!"

"Jasper," the woman cried hysterically. "My family will disown me!"

"That's not my problem anymore because that is not my child!" Jasper shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the woman's slightly distended belly.

"You are in denial! It is your baby! I've never been with anyone else!"

"Except my best friend!"

"That's a figment of your imagination Jasper Swan!" the woman shouted outrage coloring her tone.

"Well, no one will believe you…" Jasper said his tone smooth. "…Because, at dinner tonight I'm making an announcement that will change everything."


	2. A United America

Chapter 1:

A United America

"Emmett James Swan don't you dare track mud in here!" his mother, Renee, admonished.

"Yes ma'am," Emmett said, poking his head through the open window.

"Wash up, dinner's almost ready," Bella told her brother, as she set a loaf of freshly baked bread on the table.

"Great! I'm starved," Emmett said, before plunging his filthy hands into the wash basin.

"Where are your father and brother?" Renee asked, setting down a plate of fried ham.

"They're still in the field. Father says he wants to finish plowing before the sun sets," Emmett said, wiping off his face with an already soiled towel.

"That man," Renee said, shaking her head. "He's going to work himself to death. You should have stayed to help," she scolded, furrowing her eyebrows at her youngest son.

"Jasper said it was all right if I went in," Emmett said, averting his gaze from his mother's intense glare.

"Fine," Renee said, exhaling an exasperated breath. "Sit down."

Isabella cast her brother a sympathetic look. Her mother had always been exceedingly tough on him because of his childlike personality and simple outlook on life. Jasper, on the other hand, was the apple of their mother's eye. He was Isabella's twin and Emmett's antithesis. Jasper had an ear for music and played the violin exceptionally well. He loved to read and had been at the top of his class in school. He would have gone back to England for college if Renee had had her way, but a crop failure had shattered all of her hopes. The Swan's simply could not afford to send their eldest child abroad. At first, Jasper had been devastated. A bookworm, he wasn't particularly cut out for farm work. Plus, he had had Oxford on the brain for such a long time; it was hard to dissect that desire from his mind. After a couple of years though, he had settled into his new life and had since become quite content or so it would seem.

"They're coming in now," Renee said, catching sight of Charles and Jasper through the window. "Put that bread down! Where are your manners?" she snapped at Emmett.

"I thought she said I could start," Emmett whispered to his sister.

"Forget it Em. She's just having a bad day." Isabella said.

"She's always having a bad day," Emmett muttered under his breath.

Isabella patted him on the shoulder a strained smile on her face.

"Dinner smells great," Charles Swan's voice boomed as he came through the door. He and Jasper hurriedly washed their dirt stained hands and faces before making their way to the table.

"How are my girls today?" Charles Swan asked, before taking his seat.

"Just fine," Renee said briskly, before taking her own seat.

Jasper cast his sister a "what is her problem" look and Isabella responded with an "it's the same thing as usual" look.

"So," Charles Swan said, once everyone had a steaming plate full of ham, mashed potatoes, and green beans, "We managed to finish plowing the south field today."

"That's wonderful," Renee said without much enthusiasm.

"I couldn't have done it without my sons," Charles said, beaming.

"Emmett nearly cleared half of the field himself before lunchtime," Jasper chimed in.

Jasper was always trying to boost Emmett's station in their mother's eyes.

"So Jasper," Renee said, changing the subject. "There's a dance coming up in town and I think you and Bella should go."

"Mother," Bella began.

"Now Bella, you and I both know; that you and Jasper are much too old to be single. I was already married to your father for four years when I was your age."

"Mother I am only twenty! I'm not some old spinster!"

"Bite your tongue girl!" Renee hissed.

Bella blinked back the tears that threatened to fall from her brown eyes. She felt Emmett's large hand enclose around hers and she smiled up at him gratefully.

Seeing his sister's distress, Jasper turned to face his mother.

"Listen mother, I'm not going to be around long enough to court anyone."

Everyone at the table went silent. Not even the clank of a fork against a china plate could be heard.

After a moment of silence, Jasper spoke again, "I'm going to enlist."

"What?" Renee shrieked.

"I'm joining up with the Virginian militia to fight the Regulars."

"No you are not!" Renee said, nearly jumping up from her seat. "Charles, tell him! Tell him he can't go!" she cried, pleading with her husband.

Charles Swan was silent for what seemed like an eternity, his face furrowed in concentration. Finally, he said, "I can't force him to stay."

His words sounded more like an apology than a statement. He looked over at his son, pain in his eyes.

"Charles!" Renee cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I can't force him to stay because that would make me a hypocrite."

"What do you mean father?" asked Bella, who like Emmett had been too shocked to speak.

"Yes, what do you mean father?" Jasper asked.

"I'm going with you."

"Charles you can't!" Renee cried. "What will become of us?"

Charles looked across the table at his distraught wife, "Emmett will stay."

Emmett looked up from his plate, his blue eyes wide, "Come now father!" he cried. I'm coming with you!"

"No Emmett you're staying here," Charles said sternly. "Besides, you are too young to enlist."

"I'm seventeen!"

"You're too young," Jasper said coldly.

Emmett recoiled at his brother's harsh words. He looked down at his full plate, twirling his fork around in his mashed potatoes. Bella could tell that he had tears welling up in his eyes.

"When do you leave?" Bella asked, after an eerily long silence.

"Tomorrow," Jasper said.

"So soon?" Bella asked.

"It won't be long before King George sends more regulars and we need to be ready."

"The Hell with King George let him have the colonies. What do you care?" Emmett said tartly, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

Jasper stood up abruptly, shoving his chair aside. Reaching across the table, he grabbed his brother by the collar and hoisted him up.

"Jasper let him go!" Charles shouted.

Ignoring his father's order, Jasper tightened his hold on Emmett's neck. "You have no honor! No sense of pride or responsibility," he snarled. "You're just a little boy, who has no idea what freedom means."

With that, Jasper released Emmett, who crumpled to the floor coughing and crying. With one last venomous glare at his brother, Jasper strode from the house.

"Jasper! Wait!" Bella cried, running after her brother.

"Bella leave him alone," Renee shouted, who was kneeling on the floor to tend to Emmett.

Sick to death of her mother's orders, Bella kept running. She ran into the setting sun after her twin.

"Jasper! Stop! Please!" Bella shouted.

Jasper turned to look at his sister. The sunset casting a pink glow over his features. Despite his obvious masculine appearance, Bella could still see herself in her brother's face.

"What do you want Bella?" Jasper asked his voice weary.

"I just want to know why you're doing this. Is it because you couldn't go to college? Do you need adventure in your life?"

Jasper rolled his eyes and looked up towards the heavens. "Did you not just hear what I said to Emmett?"

"I couldn't miss it," Bella said, frustrated with her brother's hostile tone.

"Well then, there's your answer," Jasper said, turning to walk away.

"So that's it then. You're just going to leave your family to die, while you and father live out some hero fantasy?

Jasper turned on his heel. "Do you think this is some kind of impulse Bella? Do you think I'm doing this for the glory or to get my name written down in some history book?"

Before Bella could answer, Jasper continued, "I've thought about this long and hard. I have thought about the consequences. I know I might die. I know I might suffer, but I will know that what I died for mattered. America will be united and free."

"That's a wonderful dream Jasper," Bella said. "But let's be realistic. The regulars are more powerful than you'd ever imagine. They have more soldiers than we could ever hope to have and with more weapons to aid them. You'll be fighting a one-sided war and all of your hopes and dreams will be for naught."

"I thought you of all people would understand," Jasper said.

"No Jasper, I could never understand a reason for war."

Bella watched as her brother turned and walked towards the river that ran down the north perimeter of their land. Soon his body was engulfed with darkness and Bella decided to return to the house.

When she entered, everything was back to normal or so it would seem to an outsider. The dinner mess had been cleared from the table. A fire was crackling in the hearth. Her mother was knitting in her rocking chair and her father was cleaning his musket at the table. The only person missing from the scene was Emmett.

"Where is Emmett?" Bella asked.

"He went to bed," Renee said, not looking up from her sewing.

"I think I'll do the same," Bella said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," both Charles and Renee muttered simultaneously.

Before Bella retired to her room, she sneaked down the hall and knocked on Emmett's door. When he didn't answer, she turned the handle and walked in. Emmett was sitting by his open window, the light breeze ruffling his brown hair.

"Em, are you all right?" Bella asked, taking a seat on the bed.

When he didn't respond, Bella strode over to his side and knelt down before him. Taking his hands in hers, she gave them a squeeze. "Emmett, look at me, please."

Emmett didn't acquiesce to her request right away, but after a couple of minutes he turned his blue eyes upon her.

"Bella, I just want to prove to mother that I'm a man like Jasper, but no matter how hard I try..." Emmett's words were cut off by the sob that ripped through him.

"Listen to me Em," Bella said, wiping away her brother's tears. "You are a man. You are the man of the house now. Mother loves you very much. She's cross with you because she has such high expectations for you," Bella said, fudging the last part.

"Expectations that I can't fill," Emmett sniffled.

"Stop it, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You know in here," Bella said, tapping Emmett's chest, "that you are a decent man, a good man, a strong man."

Bella wrapped her arms around Emmett's broad shoulders, patting him on the back.

"I love you Bells," he said, dampening her dress with his tears.

"I love you too Em," Bella said, finally allowing her own tears to break free.

When Bella finally retired to her own room, she collapsed on the bed, still fully clothed. She knew that sleep would not come to her easily, so she sat up and walked over to her desk. Lighting a candle, she looked down at her unfinished sketch. It was a picture of Jasper on his horse. He looked so stoic and strong. Picking up her charcoal, Bella began to add a uniform to Jasper's paper manifestation. She felt tears burn in her eyes as Jasper, the soldier, stared back at her. A wave of anger came over her and she crumpled the paper, violently throwing it into the corner. Sobbing, she dived into her bed, burying her face into the pillow to drown out her wails. Sleep eventually came to her, but it wasn't one of peace.

Bella dreamed that Jasper got shot in the leg. A military doctor tried to take the bullet out, but couldn't because it was embedded too deeply in the flesh. Eventually, the leg turned gangrene and the doctor was forced to amputate it.

Bella awoke just before the saw came in contact with the skin above Jasper's knee.

"Jasper, what are you getting yourself into?" Bella whispered to herself, before forcing herself from the bed.

As she descended the stairs to the kitchen, Bella heard her mother and father arguing. She halted at the bottom step, not wanting to interrupt them.

"This is your fault," Renee's voice accused.

"My fault? Pray tell me why," Charles hissed.

"You planted these delusions of grandeur in his head. You told him the tales of when you fought against the French!"

"Listen to yourself Renee! Jasper is twenty years old! He knows what he's doing! What's done is done! We're leaving after breakfast."

Bella listened as her mother burst into tears and her father stomped from the house, the kitchen door slamming behind him.

Cautiously, Bella entered the kitchen. Her mother was seated at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands.

"Mother?" Bella asked. "Are you all right?"

Renee looked up, her blue eyes brimming with tears. "No, I'm not all right. My son and husband are going to get themselves killed."

Bella walked over to her mother and wrapped her arms around her. "They'll be fine mother. They are very strong men."

"I wish I could be as sure as you," Renee said, choking on her tears.

"They'll be fine," Bella repeated, wishing to God it was true.

Breakfast went by far too quickly. Bella's heart felt heavy in her chest as she watched her father and brother prepare to leave.

Jasper swung his musket over his shoulder and turned to face his sister.

"Bella, stay strong," he said, embracing her.

"I will," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"And Emmett," Jasper said, turning to his younger brother. "Take care of our girls."

"I will," said Emmett, trying not to cry.

"The horses are saddled and ready to go," Charles said, entering the room.

"We should be on our way then," Jasper said, his face firm.

Bella knew her brother well enough, that he was trying to keep himself from losing control. Jasper wasn't one to let his emotions show.

"If we leave now, we should reach Winchester by nightfall," Charles said.

Turning to his wife, he said, "I love you."

Renee could only nod as her husband wrapped her in his arms. When he finally disentangled himself from Renee's arms, he looked down at his only daughter.

"Bella, take care of your mother for me."

"I will father," Bella said, her tears finally breaking free.

"I love you," Charles said, cupping her chin. Kissing her forehead, he turned and left, Jasper at his heels.

Renee, Emmett, and Bella watched as the two men rode off into the Virginian morning. They watched until they were only two black specks on the horizon.

"Please dear God let them be safe," Bella whispered to herself, before shutting the door.

A/N: I need a Beta. If you're interested please PM me. I know my grammar is horrendous, so if anyone would like to help me, I would be truly grateful.


	3. Fever

Deterioration

Edward's hands trembled with a ferocity that threatened to expel the sharp scalpel from his grasp. Beads of sweat glistened at his temples, some of them breaking free and collecting in his bronze sideburns. His pulse drummed deafeningly in his ears and he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

The soon-to-be victim of Edward's invasive instrument externalized Edward's apprehension. His pale face dripped with perspiration and his brown eyes had a hollow dead look, accented by the dark circles rimming them. It was painfully clear that the man was dying.

His dire situation stemmed from the horrific trauma imposed on his right leg. The flesh there had started to swell, with putrescent fluid, from the base of the knee to the toes. A gaping black hole served as macabre substitute to the once healthy calf muscle. Pus oozed from the annihilated tissue and a stomach-churning stench pervaded the small tent. Only one solution could prevent the gangrenous appendage from killing its host...amputation.

Even with the removal of the diseased leg, the young soldier had a slim chance of survival, for the infection had festered for far too long.

As if he could read Edward's mind, the man shouted, "Just let me die! Don't do this!"

Trying in vain to put on his 'emotionless physician face' Edward looked down at his patient. "I'm sorry private, but I won't be your executioner. I can't just watch you die."

The man's eyes became crazed, glowing red with unshod tears. Partially attributed to his brain melting fever and partially due to his manic fear, the man started to scream.

"I'll do anything! Just please don't cut!"

Clenching his teeth, Edward closed his weary eyes. When he opened them, "Doctor Edward" overpowered "sensitive humanistic Edward."

"Hold him down," he ordered the two attending guards.

"No! No! No!" the man shrieked, as Edward lowered the scalpel towards the dead flesh.

Thanks to God's mercy, the man lost consciousness as soon as the cold tip of the scalpel pierced his skin.

That night, Edward returned to the tent he shared with his friend Lt. Samuel Prescott, with bloodstains on his hands, both literally and metaphorically.

He entered the tent soundlessly, heading straight for the wash basin. As soon as he submerged his hands into the murky water, he began to violently scrub. The frenzy, with which he attacked his hands sent water droplets flying. He didn't stop scouring himself until a pair of strong hands grabbed him.

"Edward," Samuel whispered. "What are you doing?"

As if suddenly exorcized from a malevolent possession, Edward turned to face Samuel, his eyes wide with confusion.

Realization soon dawned on him as the consequences of his self-mutilation registered. Looking down at his raw red hands, Edward began to cry.

Samuel caught him before he fell to his knees, carefully easing him down to the tent's grassy floor.

Unsure of how to react, Samuel patted Edward gently on the back.

"Easy man," he said softly. "What's wrong?"

Looking up, his green eyes swimming with tears, Edward shook his head.

"I killed a man today."

"No you didn't," Samuel said. "Not directly."

"Directly, indirectly, what does it matter? He died by my hand," Edward said his voice choked with emotion.

"You are a great doctor," Samuel said, his voice full of conviction.

Ignoring Samuel's affirmation, Edward continued to sob out his transgressions.

"He begged me to let him die naturally, to allow him to have a nuance of control over his fate. What did I do? I made his last moments on earth, ones of pure agony."

Samuel placed his hands on Edward's shoulders.

"Your only sin is trying to save a man's life. If that's your only misdeed, you're going to die saint"

Pulling Edward into an embrace, he said, "You have the purest heart of anyone I have ever known."

Lt. Colonel Edward Anthony Cullen's moral compass governed his existence. When most men turned theirs off in favor of unholy vices like gambling, alcohol and sex, Edward's remained steadfast. A man of science, he did not classify himself as a pious man. Though he believed in God; he refused to practice organized religion, believing it too corrupted and tainted by man.

From a young age, Edward's father, Carlisle, taught him the art of compassion. He embedded the idea that every life was sacred. A renowned doctor in his own right, Carlisle molded his son into a sensitive and caring individual.

It had been against his father's wishes that he had enlisted in the British Army. A pacifist, his father had been horrified at the notion. He had not understood his son's desperate need to escape the world that had became so black and hopeless.

Motivated by madness and grief, Edward had sought out a career as surgeon in the esteemed brigade headed for America.

For months, Edward has sawed off arms and legs. He stitched gaping holes and extracted shrapnel from obliterated flesh. At night he'd lie awake, listening to the sounds of men crying out and moaning in pain. Sometimes, when the night was silent, save for the whisper of the wind, Edward's ears would echo with the phantom screams of the men he had "tortured."

Samuel constantly sought to free his friend from the never-ending depression that plagued him, but his efforts were for naught. The witness of senseless deaths had broken the once optimistic man.

At twenty-four, Edward felt ancient and wizened. War had a peculiar way of irreparably changing people and in Edward's case, the alteration was not positive.

* * *

Bella dipped the ragged cloth into the porcelain basin as her mother retched, once again, into the bucket by the bed. The squeamishness had long sense left her and she could now properly care for Renee.

Wringing out the excess water, Bella returned to her mother's side. Renee's matted brown hair clung to her sweaty neck and face. Her skin was so pale; she nearly blended in with the white bed sheets. She had lost so much weight, that her cheekbones jutted prominently, giving her face a skeletal look. Dark circles ringed her eyes and like all Yellow Fever victims, her irises appeared the same color that gave the disease its name.

Only three months had passed since Charles and Jasper enlisted. In order to keep her mind busy, Renee had resumed her duty as the town midwife. She also served as a caregiver to the sick. One patient in particular, the widow Williams, harbored the very illness that would soon overcome Renee.

Bella placed the cool rag on her mother's burning forehead.

"Bella," Renee rasped. "I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," Bella said, smoothing back Renee's damp hair.

"Promise me, you'll take care of Emmett," she said, her chapped lips cracking with every word.

"I won't have to," Bella said, biting the inside of her quivering lip. "The worst is over. You'll be better in no time."

Renee smiled weakly, her lips splitting even more.

"I'm dying Bella."

As if on cue, a wracking cough erupted from her exhausted lungs. When she finally caught her breath, she grabbed hold of Bella's trembling hand.

"I know I've been especially hard on you and Emmett," she said, her words coming out in wheezes.

"Mother..." Bella began, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Just listen," Renee said, now struggling for breath. "I love you both more than you'll ever know..."

"...We love you too mother," Emmett said, appearing in the doorway.

"My son," Renee gasped, holding her hand out to him.

Emmett looked at Bella for permission. Since Renee had fallen ill, Bella had prohibited him from entering the sickroom, in fear he too would fall prey to the disease.

Bella nodded, she wouldn't deny her brother a final farewell.

With tears in his eyes, Emmett took his mother's hand. With the unconditional love of her children filling the room, Renee took her final breaths, and closed her eyes for the last time.

Long after Renee's breathing had ceased, Bella and Emmett continued to cling to her lifeless hands. Bella's sobs reverberated off the walls. She had tried to remain strong for her brother, but the wound was too deep. Releasing her mother's hand, she fell to the floor in a heap. Emmett was immediately by her side. He wrapped his strong arms around her, enveloping her shaking form with his warmth. The two siblings clung to each other, seeking comfort in the fact that they both shared the same sense of loss. They were truly alone now.


	4. Abandonment

Chapter 3:

Abandonment

"Emmett, what's wrong?" Bella asked.

Since the death of their mother, Emmett had barely spoken a word. Bella would have expected that type of behavior from Jasper, but not her fun-loving, happy-go-lucky, Emmett. Jasper...the thought of him made her heart ache. Renee's death had reopened the slowly healing wound and now Bella felt the absence of her father and brother all the more strongly.

"Emmett?" Bella asked again. She couldn't stand the isolation any longer.

"What?" Emmett replied in a clipped tone.

Unperturbed, Bella continued. "Listen Em, I know these last few weeks have been tough, but..."

Before she could finish, Emmett abruptly stood, nearly knocking over his cup of coffee.

"I'm going to enlist," he said, looking down at her.

At first his words didn't register, as if he had spoken in some alien tongue. Bella looked at him quizzically, but then, slowly, the comprehension of his very English announcement sunk into her consciousness.

Bella felt her jaw grow slack, falling open. Emmett suddenly looked incredibly nervous and uncomfortable.

"Listen Bella, I know this is sudden," he said.

"Sudden!" Bella shrieked, the shock wearing off. "You're seventeen years old for God's sake! You're not going anywhere!"

Emmett's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I am," he growled.

Forcing herself from the table, Bella stood, looking her brother straight in the eye. Under any other circumstance, the five foot girl bowing up to the six-foot-four man would have been comical, but nothing about this exchange was humorous.

"There's nothing you can say or do that will stop me," Emmett said, trying in vain to appear indifferent.

"Am I to lose my entire family?" Bella asked, her quivering voice contrasting starkly with her stoic facade.

Emmett didn't respond. Instead, he just looked down at his oversized feet.

"Well the devil with you then," Bella snarled, running from the room.

Slamming her bedroom door behind her, she dove onto the bed. With her face buried deep within the pillow, she started to scream. She screamed from the anger she felt towards her father and Jasper for abandoning the family, she screamed from the sadness of her mother's death, she screamed from the betrayal of her beloved brother Emmett, and she screamed from the loneliness that threatened to envelope her.

After what seemed like hours, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of the very probable deaths of her three remaining family members.

When she awoke at dusk, Emmett was gone.

* * *

Bella sat in the abandoned cotton field. The dead brown leaves crunched beneath her as she struggled to get comfortable. She could not. It was not her body that was restless, but her mind. Everything that had transpired in the previous months percolated there, festering like a diseased boil. The devastation she had faced had now begun to weigh down upon her, threatening to crush her with it's omnipresence. For the first time in her life, Bella felt vulnerable. Hot tears sprang to her eyes, filling to the brim, then spilling down her rosy cheeks. The ones that escaped, collected on her calico dress. They glistened in the setting sun like diamonds.

A week had passed since Emmett had departed and his absence tore at Bella's heart the most. She sat there in the field her father and brothers had so painstakingly cultivated until the sun had bid adieu and the stars were welcomed back into the sky. The haunting howl of a wolf, in the distance, finally roused her from her reverie. The beast's mournful lament to the moon sent shivers down her spine. Strangely though, after listening to the animal's song for a few minutes, Bella began to relax. A sense of peace seemed to wash over her. It was as if the wolf was speaking directly to her, telling her that she wasn't the only one who was alone.

At the same moment, in a haphazardly constructed tent a mile away, a lonely soldier lay. The wolf's cry forced the tendrils of pain slowly encasing his heart to recede. And for the first time in months, he drifted into an easy sleep.

* * *

"Attention men," shouted an authoritative lieutenant. "We have just received word from our dispatch riders that the regulars are camped not four miles from this very spot."

There was an unanimous gasp from the soldiers.

Jasper looked over at his father, his eyes wide with fear. Never before had the British been so close. He tried to remind himself that this was the reason he enlisted. He could now put his training to use and end the Crown's tyrannical reign over his people.

Charles Swan's eyes mirrored his son's, while his face sought to provide assurance.

"We're going to be moving out this afternoon. By dusk, we'll be able to give those lapdogs a surprise," the gruff lieutenant said, his face contorted in a maniacal sneer.

When the lieutenant left to conduct the necessary preparations, Jasper turned to his father.

"He's leading us on a suicide mission. The regulars are more equipped than we."

"Don't fret son," Charles said, his voice calm. "We'll be fine."

Before Jasper could reply, a brash voice resonated in his ear, "What are you doing standing here idly? Move!" the lieutenant roared, his arms laden with rifles.

* * *

With every spasmodic _bang_ of a gunshot, Bella flinched. Never before had the war seemed so real. Clutching the cold metal of the rifle in her right hand, she used her free one to navigate to the proper page of the worn bible in her lap. She sought comfort in Psalm 23 and tried to drown out the battle with the word's of the righteous.

_The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. _

_He makes me lie down in green pastures; _

_He leads me beside quiet waters. _

_He restores my soul; _

_He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. _

_Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, _

_I fear no evil, for You are with me; _

_Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. _

_You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; _

_You have anointed my head with oil; _

_My cup overflows. _

_Surely goodness and loving kindness will follow me all the days of my life, _

_And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. _

The deafening _boom_ of a cannon caused Bella to shriek. Leaping from her chair, she made her way to the kitchen window. She lifted a trembling hand to pull the curtains back. Before her eyes, the horizon glowed with fearsome pyrotechnics. A billowing cloud of smoke was sweeping towards her house like a malevolent entity.

Bella squinted her eyes shut and fell to her knees. Bowing her head, she humbly beseeched God, begging him to keep her safe. She knew that regardless of who one the battle, she was a virginal woman with no protector and the soldiers, whether British or colonial hadn't been satiated by the female persuasion in quite a while.

* * *

The ingenious plan to ambush the well-equipped British had proved foolhardy. Even without warning, they had easily given the ragged colonial brigade a run for their money. Still, the courageous colonials managed to push the British eastward, forcing them to evacuate their camp.

The once active campsite now lay in desolation. Screams of anguish pierced the night as men from both sides lie bleeding, forgotten by their compatriots.

One of the screams came not from one that was injured, but one searching for a fallen comrade.

"Father!" the man cried, rushing over to the disheveled form that lied beneath a large oak.

Running like a man possessed, Jasper skidded to a halt beside his fallen father. He nearly retched at the sight before him, but managed to quell the bile that threatened to erupt from his throat.

Charles' white undershirt was slowly turning red, as the cotton soaked the viscous liquid oozing from his perforated chest.

Pulling out his pocket knife, Jasper quickly removed the obstructive material covering the wound.

Jasper recoiled in horror, dropping his knife.

"That bad?" Charles said, his voice hoarse with pain.

Jasper managed to conjure up a fake smile, "You're going to be fine," he said, his shaking voice betraying him.

"I don't think so," Charles said, his face contorted in a grimace.

"I'm going to go get some help," Jasper said, starting to stand.

"Wait!" Charles wheezed, grabbing his son's hand. "It's too dangerous."

"Don't worry father," Jasper soothed. "The Regulars have evacuated the camp. You'll be safe until I get back."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Charles said, struggling for breath. "There will be stragglers. What if you get caught...get taken prisoner?"

"I'll be careful father," Jasper said, squeezing Charles' hand. "I'll come back for you."

* * *

Edward's ears rang with the sound of cannon fire. Still shaken, he made his way through the camp, looking for the fallen. The soldiers he walked past, stared back at him with glassy eyes, their souls long since lifted from their mortal captors.

He was just about to give up hope, when he heard a weak cough. He followed the pitiful sound to an old oak. On the ground before him lay a middle-aged colonial soldier.

The man's eyes widened with fear upon seeing Edward's blood red coat, the uniform of a British Regular.

"Easy sir," Edward said, when the man tried to move.

"Just leave me alone," the man gasped.

"It's all right...I'm a doctor."

"Why would you help me? Your English."

"I'm a doctor. It matters nothing to me if you're English, French, Spanish, American, or Indigenous."

The man's rigid demeanor began to relax under Edward's kind gaze.

"What's your name?" the man asked, as Edward began pulling out medical instruments.

"Edward Cullen," he replied, swabbing dirt from the man's wound.

"My name is Charles."

Edward smiled at him, earning a weak one in response.

"I'm going to have to remove the shrapnel that's lodged inside your thoracic cavity," Edward said, his face suddenly grim.

"Do what you must," Charles said, but his eyes were once again fearful.

Edward moved the lantern he had brought closer. The luminosity grossly exaggerated the damaged flesh.

"I don't have anything to give you for the pain," Edward revealed somberly. He reached down and picked up a chunk of wood, abandoned by it's mother above.

"Here, bite on this," Edward said, placing the uncivilized anesthetic into Charles' shaking hand.

"I'm ready," Charles said, sinking his teeth into the splintery branch.

Plunging his forceps into the man-made hole, Edward began to root around for the foreign metal.

He tried to ignore Charles' muted screams, but it was impossible. Witnessing another human being in pain caused him emotional agony. It wasn't long though before his instrument collided with a piece of shrapnel. Triumphant, he deposited the bloody piece on the ground. He was almost finished removing the offensive pieces, when Charles' screams abruptly ended.

That's when he saw it. The red liquid pooling around the base of the tree. It came not from Charles' obliterated chest, but from his back. Edward rolled the unconscious man over and took in the most horrific sight.

It looked as if Charles had been born without a back. A huge gaping hole, undoubtedly the handiwork of a cannon's shrapnel, gave a clear view of his fragile spine.

Edward gently turned the limp man back over. He placed to fingers to Charles' neck. His heart sunk when he was not greeted with the rhythmical thump of the jugular. Despite all his efforts, he had lost yet another soul to the war.

* * *

Edward vowed to stay with the body until sunrise, so he could give Charles a proper burial.

He was about to drift to sleep, when he heard footsteps. Startled, he instinctively drew his pistol, aiming at the unknown presence in the night. Getting to his feet, he waited until the invisible figure materialized.

Out of the darkness, a man who looked not much younger than himself, appeared. He too was armed, but unlike Edward, his face was a mask of pure hatred.

Something caught the stranger's eye. Edward followed his gaze to Charles' body.

"Father," the man mouthed. He took a few tentative steps towards the corpse before turning back to Edward.

His face was contorted with rage and agony. "Murderer!" he screamed, raising his musket.

"No, it's not what you think," Edward stammered, shocked that the man had come to that conclusion.

"Liar," the man snarled, his eyes red and maniacal, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I swear to you, I did not kill your father," Edward said.

"You're a rotten liar. All of you English are the same!"

"Listen, I know you're upset, but..."

"Upset? Upset doesn't begin to cover it. I won't be satisfied until I'm red with your blood. You English pig!"

"I'm a doctor. I cannot help that I was born in the land you now despise. I abhor violence...so much that I refuse to use this," Edward said, tossing his pistol to the ground.

"Unfortunately for you," the man said. "I don't believe in second chances...I only believe in retribution."

With that, he pulled the trigger. It was as if the world had begun to turn in slow motion. Edward watched as the bullet propelled towards him. He felt the intense burn as the bullet pierced his right shoulder. And he watched the world fade away to black as the second bullet pounded into his chest.


	5. A Question of Morality

Chapter 4

A Question of Morality

A shriek pierced the calm autumn morning followed by the thud of a pail as it spewed its contents onto the wooden floor below. Before Bella could scream again, a strong calloused hand clamped over her mouth. Despite the domineering gesture, the man's grip had a gentility that seemed grossly out of place.

"I'll let you go, just please don't scream again. I promise I won't hurt you," the man whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear.

"Let me go," she snarled, though she kept the volume of her voice in check.

She frantically struggled, desperate to free her arms. The only region of her body not incapacitated, lied below her waist. With all the gusto she could muster, Bella forcefully kicked her leg back, her booted foot colliding with her captor's groin.

To her amazement, he relinquished her, crumpling to the floor in a heaving mass. Frozen with shock, Bella watched as the man writhed on the ground, his breath coming out in heavy pants. The water she had spilled earlier pooled around his pathetic form, soaking through his tattered tunic, a tunic that oozed with another liquid, one far less clear as a matter of fact. Upon closer examination, the viscous liquid gleamed red in the morning sun - blood.

His blood was crimson red, the exact same color as his uniform, a symbolic representation of the blood he had been trained to shed. His devilish image intensified when Bella saw that he bore the insignia of a high ranking officer upon his lapel. She glared down at the pathetic form below, hatred coursing through her veins like venom. This man could have killed her father or brothers for all she knew.

"Please, help me," the man croaked.

He held his bloody hand up to her in a show of surrender. His green eyes sparkled in the light and his face; his face looked like that of an angel.

His beauty took her aback. The man had suddenly transformed from a hellish demon to a heavenly god. Feeling sick, Bella internally battled her conscience. Could she possibly leave the man to die on her veranda? Her moral compass erased the preconceived animosity she housed towards the dying soldier. She had to save his life.

She knelt beside him and unabashedly ripped open his shirt. There, in the middle of his chest, was a black hole, undoubtedly the handiwork of a musket. She had seen the same death mark on the corpses of the deer her father and brothers used to bring home.

"Let's get you inside," she said, forgetting the initial exchange she had had with the soldier.

The man struggled to breathe and when he tried to formulate a response, only indecipherable wheezes came out. So instead, he grasped Bella's hand and gave it a weak squeeze. She responded with a strained smile and allowed him to wrap his arm around her waist for support.

His blood left ruby tracks across the wooden floor as Bella led him through the kitchen and up a narrow staircase. He became increasingly lightheaded as they made their ascent, but he dare not faint. The thought of passing out in a stranger's arms, a beautiful female stranger's to be exact, was inconceivable. Clenching his teeth, he leaned deeper into her embrace as she led him to the last room at the end of the corridor.

The door to the room opened with a creak. The faint light emitted through the shuttered window cast grotesque shadow figures on the bare walls. Dancing around like a troupe of macabre ballerinas, the shadows pirouetted around the sparsely furnished room. Leaping through the air, they pirouetted atop the bed and performed a grande plie across the chest of drawers.

Beginning to feel nauseated, the man leaned more of his weight into Bella, emphasizing his urgent need to lie down.

Picking up on the gesture, she helped him lay down upon the soft mattress.

With a sigh, the man sunk into the down pillows.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Bella replied, as she reached over and opened the shutters, flooding the room with light. The shadow figures disbanded frantically, replaced by their daytime compatriots, the dust bunnies.

Edward clenched his eyes shut at the unwelcome intrusion and didn't reopen them until he felt tentative fingers prod his broken flesh.

"I don't see a bullet," Bella mused.

The man's emerald eyes struggled to focus on her, the loss of blood making it increasingly difficult.

"I removed it...myself," the man panted.

"I'm... a... doctor," he said in response to Bella's wide-eyed stare.

"What should I do," she asked, her voice quivering with uncertainty.

"You'll need to...burn the wound...closed," the man said, struggling for air. "It's...called...cauterizing...heat a knife...until it's...white hot...and...then...bring it...back...here."

Bella began to shake her head. The proposed procedure was just too heinous to perform.

Seeing her distress, the man grabbed her hand again, "Please," he gasped. "It's...a matter...of life...and...death."

Bella nodded, tears of apprehension welling up in her chocolate eyes.

Bounding down the staircase, three steps at a time, Bella burst through the kitchen. She bee lined to the cutlery drawer; where she pulled out a large serrated steak knife.

Setting it aside, she went to stroke the dying fire. The embers clung to life, but their moments were numbered. Striking a match, Bella lit a piece of kindling and tossed it upon the charred cedar log. Within minutes, an inferno roared in the hearth, and the helpless embers succumbed to their hellish successor.

Bella placed the knife near the blaze and impatiently waited for the blade to heat. She silently prayed, while the dull gray metal transformed into a white molten torch. Using her apron, Bella grasped the warm handle and hurried back to the dying Englishman.

His eyes were closed and his face was ashen. Sweat soaked his bronze hair, making it appear almost black. So far gone was he; that he didn't even notice Bella's reappearance.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as she laid the blade across the bloody hole.

The man's eyes shot open and his mouth widened in a silent scream. He grasped the sheets in his hands, squeezing the life from them, desperately trying to will the pain away. Despite his masculine restraint, the screams came anyway. The feeling of his already excruciating chest wound being seared was unbearable.

Tears streamed down Bella's face as she watched the man scream in agony.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she removed the knife. In its stead, the pink skin glistened with sweat, perfectly cauterized.

With an exhausted exhale, the man fell back against the pillows, his contorted face beginning to relax.

His heavy breathing slowly returned to normal and his pallid tone regained some natural hue.

Drained, Bella slumped down into the rocking chair in the corner. She concentrated on the rise and fall of the soldier's chest as he fell into a deep slumber.

The handsome British soldier would live and, God help her, she was thankful.


	6. Edward's Demons

Chapter 5

Edward's Demons

_Plumes of smoke rendered the scene indecipherable. Men's shouts could be heard above the roar of the cannon blasts, but soon they melded into a whirring din of battle sounds. It felt so real. He could almost feel the flack ricochet off his back with every flash of the cannon. Yet, no shrapnel dared penetrate his flesh. He was like a ghost, there only in spirit, no way in control of the fates of the dying men around him. _

_The scene seemed to transpire in slow motion. Edward witnessed one colonial taking a bullet in the chest. It seemed like an eternity before his body fell to the ground in a motionless slump, his eyes wide open and glazed. He recoiled in horror, when he saw one of his own compatriots repeatedly stab, an already dead, colonial with his bayonet. Every couple of seconds a man would fall to their knees. Some were dead before they hit the ground. Other, less fortunate, souls suffered before their world went black. _

_Edward couldn't believe his eyes. As a surgeon, he didn't fight in hand-to-hand combat. To see the war through a foot soldier's eyes brought everything into perspective. The fear, the bone tingling dread of combat was all-encompassing. It suffocated you with its omnipresence. _

_Blood stained the ground, soaking into the dirt. Dead bodies, from both camps, littered the field. It was the most asinine loss of human life that Edward had ever seen. Never had he imagined so many lives could be sacrificed for naught. In his experience, he had only dealt with the few souls, whose life had been spared. The few soldiers, whose compatriots cared enough for, to carry on their backs back to base. _

_Before long, the deafening sounds of gunpowder exploding ceased. The few stragglers from both sides cut their losses and scurried back to their respective hiding places, leaving their fellow soldiers to bleed to death in the cold Virginian night. _

_Surveying the dismal scene brought tears to Edward's eyes. Every blank stare that caught his eye made him feel guilty and irresponsible. He continued to wade through the dying smoke. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tow-headed blonde soldier struggling to sit up. Hoping the man's life could be spared, Edward hurried over to the oak by which he sat. His disheveled form was slumped against the tree and his pale hand clutched his left breast. Ruby red liquid oozed from between his fingers and his hair was drenched with sweat and littered with leaves and other various assortments of debris. _

_The man, whom had been looking down, raised his head upon hearing Edward's footsteps._

_Edward gasped, his eyes widening. _

"_No, it's impossible. You're dead," he said, his voice shaking._

"_Edward, I'm very disappointed in you," Carlisle Cullen said his face somber._

"_You abandoned your family, to live out some hero fantasy."_

"_That's not true," Edward cried._

"_What do you call it then?" Carlisle asked disappointment in his voice._

"_After you and Elizabeth died, my world was shattered."_

"_So, you abandoned your sisters, left them to fend for themselves."_

"_I didn't think it would end the way it did," Edward sobbed._

"_You're the only Cullen left. Is that what you wanted?" Carlisle shouted his voice harsh._

"_No!"_

"_I wish you had died," Carlisle growled venomously. "...instead of my precious daughters."_

"_Father, please," Edward lamented, falling to his knees. He wrapped his arms around the man he had admired his entire life, but all he felt was empty air. Opening his blurry eyes, he discovered that his father was not there. _

_Jumping up, he shouted, "Father!" His tone was hysterical, desperate in its need to see him once more._

_He felt the wind ruffle through his hair as he picked up speed. He ran through the desolate field, screaming for his phantom father, but it was useless._

_His voice soon became hoarse and he fell to the ground, burying his face in his hands._

_Shuddering sobs wracked through his body, his bereavement on display for the world._

_Out of nowhere, a woman's scream pierced through the night. Edward's eyes popped open. Before him, writhing on a bed was his older sister Alice. He had been transported to her London apartment. The diminutive chamber teemed with activity. The doctor, whom Edward recognized right away as the quack who took over for his father, was positioned at the base of the bed. His hands were stained red with blood. The two midwives accompanying him were scurrying about the room, fetching water, fresh linen, and trying their best to soothe Alice. From the amount of blood staining the bed sheets and medical personnel, Edward could discern that Alice was in a bad way. _

_Clutching her distended belly, Alice craned her neck to face the doctor._

_"What's wrong?" she cried._

_"Mrs. Hale, the baby is breach. I'm going to have to turn it around," the doctor said, his voice sounding unreasonably calm._

_Edward felt his stomach drop as the look of realization crossed his sister's face. _

_"Is it dangerous?"_

_"For you," the doctor said, unapologetically._

_"Do whatever you have to do to save the baby," Alice panted, tears streaming down her sweaty cheeks._

_The doctor just nodded curtly before turning his attention back to his task._

_The rest of the birth blurred together in a flurry of frenzied action. The screams, the blood, the pleas were forever etched into Edward's memory._

_Yet he could stand to endure it repeatedly, if it would replace the silence._

_The kind of silence that stemmed from shock and grief. Edward didn't even want to look. He already knew. Still, he was compelled to seek closure, to lay eyes on his sister one last time. _

_Invisible to the room's other occupants he walked to her side. Her long black hair lay disheveled upon the stark white pillow. Blinded by tears, Edward tried to grab the brush from her bedside table, but his fingers went right through the handle. He longed to touch Alice, to hold her hand, to kiss her forehead, but he couldn't, it was only a dream._

_"I'm so sorry Alice," he whispered. "If I had been here, perhaps things would have been different. Father was right, I left my whole family to die."_

_His usually babbling sister just lay there, still, unmoving, so uncharacteristically Alice. Poor Alice, she had married a pauper, lived in squalor, and died penniless and alone. _

_Her husband was nowhere to be found according to the doctor. Edward overheard him telling the midwives, "Last time she saw 'em was three days ago. Went to the tavern, he did."_

_"Who's going to tell him about his wife and the baby," one of the midwives asked her tone aghast._

_"Don't think he cares," the doctor responded lackadaisically. _

_"What a shame, two dead and no one to mourn them."_

_The midwife was wrong about one thing. Someone did mourn them. Edward had wept over their deaths ever since the letter arrived informing him of the travesty. The grief had never left him..._

_"I don't want you to go!"_

_Edward jumped at the interjection. He whirled around just in time to see a plate being hurled into his direction. Leaping, unnecessarily, from it's trajectory out of habit, Edward fell against an oaken wall. Of course, no pain ensued, but it startled him nonetheless._

_The room he was now in was much different from Alice's, much more lavish. It made sense though, for the angry woman, who had thrown the plate was his youngest sister, Rosalie. She had always had a penchant for fine things. It was no wonder she had married into money._

_"You are a disgusting fiend," she cried, raising another plate above her head. _

_The man she was assaulting was ruby red, not with chagrin, but with anger. The veins in his left temple bulged prominently, blue with pulsing blood. _

_"How dare you speak to me in that tone!" he screamed._

_"Don't shout at me!" Rosalie cried as she catapulted the porcelain plate directly at her husband's, or what Edward assumed was her husband's, baldhead._

_"If you throw another plate, I will break your fragile little arm like a piece of kindling," the man growled._

_From the look on his sister's face, she believed him and Edward felt immediate contempt for the man she feared._

_"You're a little harlot," the man spat, walking slowly towards her. With every step he took, Rosalie sank further into the unmoving cabinet behind her. Her anger had completely disappeared, replaced, instead, with trepidation._

_"You slept with Thomas Wilkes, gave birth to his baby and passed it off as mine and you are judging me?"_

_"I was never unfaithful to you! John, I swear to God I am telling the truth! I've told you this a thousand times!"_

_"You're a fucking liar," John hissed, finally reaching her. He pressed his body against hers, forcefully slamming her back into the wooden cabinet. _

_"I questioned him myself, he told me everything," he continued, wrapping his large hand around Rosalie's throat._

_"You mean you tortured him. He would have admitted to anything to escape the pain!"_

_John smiled, removing his hand from Rosalie's neck. His obsidian eyes bore into her emerald ones as he absentmindedly ran his pointer finger across her bow-shaped lips._

_"I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance," he whispered, almost like an afterthought. Perhaps matters wouldn't be so...complicated."_

_"John, what are you saying?" Rosalie said her eyes wide. _

_"I'm saying that lying Delilahs' don't deserve to breathe."_

_A shriek escaped Rosalie's mouth as she tried to push past her husband, but he was too strong. He grabbed her by the collar and yanked her back. _

_Edward stood, unable to believe his eyes._

_John proceeded to throw Rosalie to the floor. Her head hit the edge of the kitchen table before she went down, causing her to yelp in pain. _

_The cry of a baby could be heard from a room further within the house. , triggering Rosalie to jerk her head up in the direction of the sound._

_"Hear the little bastard?" John mocked. "He's cheering me on."_

_"You're sick," Rosalie cried, trying desperately to crawl away. _

_Her futile attempts were once again thwarted as John grabbed her by the legs and dragged her across the floor. Rosalie's nails left marks as she dug desperately into the wooden floorboards._

_"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Rosalie screamed._

_"Who's going to help you Rose? You wanted an elegant mansion in the countryside did you not? Well, you had it. You had it all, but you threw it away for the blacksmith's son."_

_"I didn't do anything wrong," Rosalie sobbed, looking up at him helplessly. "Why are you punishing me for something I didn't do?"_

_"Because I don't believe a word that comes out of your pretty little mouth," John said._

_"I don't understand," Rosalie said, grabbing onto his pant leg. "What did I do to make you hate me so much?"_

_For a moment, it appeared as if she had broken through his barrier, but it only lasted a millisecond, before he kicked her off._

_Reaching into his coat, John withdrew a silver pistol. He spun the revolver until it made a bone chilling "click" sound. Rosalie's already pale face lost all color, as she comprehended her unstable husband's intentions. _

_"I loved you Rose, but you didn't love me enough," John said, though his tone was detached, unfeeling. _

_Before his wife could utter a protest, he aimed the gun at her heart. _

_Edward heard himself scream, "NO!" as John's finger pulled back the trigger. He watched in horror as the bullet pierced through his sister's fragile body. Her eyes widened in fright for mere seconds before they were eternally blinded. _

_Dumbstruck, he watched as John dropped the murderous weapon and burst out the kitchen door. _

_"My God! Had I known it would end this way, I would never have left," Edward wailed, clutching his bronze hair in his fists._

_Dropping to his knees beside his sister's body, he began to howl. The pain of the losses was just too strong. _

_"Elizabeth's death shattered me, but I should have been stronger. I should have been the brother you depended on, not the absentee failure that abandoned you."_

_Seeing Rosalie's uncanny, resemblance to Carlisle stung even more. She may not have had his temperament, but she had shared the same passion and emotional intelligence. Unlike their father, however, her death could have been prevented. Much unlike the death of another woman Edward had loved with all his heart..._

_He felt a tender hand touch his knee._

_He shuddered for this was different. Why did he feel the caress?_

"_Edward," a soft familiar voice said._

_Opening his eyes, he faced a memorable room. It occurred to him suddenly, that he had not been involved in the deaths of his sisters. However, he had been intimately involved in someone else's. Now that he was the key player in this scene, he could interact with the woman he had so desperately missed. It was the very same woman, whom had been buried with his heart._

_That very woman lay before him now, upon the bed, her frail body covered by many quilts...Elizabeth. Her chestnut locks cascaded down her pillow, contrasting starkly with the white cotton. She had lost a dramatic amount of weight, so her cheeks looked gaunt, her skin sallow. Her perfect bow shaped lips had lost their rosy hue and looked plain, yet she still had an ethereal beauty about her._

_Edward took her frail hand in his, bringing it to his lips._

"_Edward don't," Elizabeth rasped. "I can't bear to see you fall ill too."_

"_Don't fret my love," Edward said, trying to control his emotions. "I never get sick, remember?"_

_Elizabeth smiled wanly, her blue eyes dull, "I forgot. I'm the weak one, who falls ill at the drop of a hat. This time though, I don't think I'll recover."_

_Her exhausted lungs answered her declaration by contracting, launching their owner into a coughing fit. Grasping the bloodied handkerchief by her side, she covered her mouth as her body convulsed with the ferocity of the bout._

_The episode lasted no longer, than forty seconds, but the violence of the attack left Elizabeth breathless. She fell back against the pillows, her breathing shallow. _

_Edward smoothed back her damp hair with his trembling hand. _

"_Edward?" Elizabeth whispered, when she regained control._

"_Yes my love?"_

"_How much longer do I have?"_

_Edward did not want to lie to her, but how could you tell your eighteen-year-old fiancé; that she was dying?_

"_I guess that's my answer," she said, perceptively interpreting Edward's silence._

"_You can recover," Edward said, hoping for his sake as well as hers that it could happen._

_Elizabeth shook her head, "You don't have to lie for my sake. I know you too well. The truth is in your eyes."_

_Edward grasped both of her hands, "I can't let you go."_

"_You don't ever have too," Elizabeth said, placing both of their hands on her heart. _

"_I want you to remember me," she continued. "But I don't want you to mourn."_

"_How can I not?" Edward said his voice breaking._

"_I want you to move on. I want your life to be full. I wish you to be happy, have a family. Don't waste your life."_

"_Elizabeth," Edward protested._

"_Promise me."_

_Edward looked down at his lap, as his tears broke free._

"_Look at me," Elizabeth said._

_Her blue eyes glistened with tears, "Promise me, you will not grieve."_

"_I promise," Edward lied._

"_I lov..." Elizabeth began before succumbing to another fit. _

_Edward bereft with grief clambered to her side as he pulled her shaking body into his arms. Her body shuddered violently as she choked on the invincible phlegm in her chest. _

_Unlike the first fit, the second left her unable to breathe. She clawed at her throat, gasping for air. _

_Scooping her up, Edward laid her on the cold wooden floor. He pinched her nose and covered her blue tinged lips with his own. He forced air into her rejecting lungs, but it was no use. One tear escaped from the corner of Elizabeth's eye before her lungs expelled the air Edward had offered them, refusing to take in any more._

_The door to the bedroom creaked open, but Edward didn't turn to appraise the intruder. Instead, he drew Elizabeth up into an embrace and sobbed into her hair. Her unique scent of vanilla and daffodils filled his nostrils as he silently begged God to bring her back._

"_Edward," a man's voice said._

_"Go away!" Edward shouted, his voice muffled by his love's hair._

_"Edward, there was nothing you could have done," Carlisle's voice said._

_"Just leave me alone!"_

_He faintly heard his father whisper, "Sorry," before his footsteps retreated. When the door closed with a click, Edward kissed Elizabeth on her, still, warm lips._

_"We're alone my love," he whispered choking on his words. "Please, wake up!"_

_Opening his tear filled eyes; he looked down at the lifeless body in his arms in disbelief. The pain of reliving the tragedy felt rawer than the first time, even more agonizing. It felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart with a white-hot poker. All he could think to do was to scream._

_"ELIZABETH!"_

Author's Note: I decided to add this in as a prelude to Chapter 6, which I previously posted as Chapter 5. I hope you like it and it's not too confusing. Thanks to everyone, who has reviewed. More to come soon!


	7. Awakenings

Chapter 5:

Awakenings

A tenor cry pierced through the eerily still night. Bella, whom had recently drifted to sleep, awoke with a start, nearly falling from the rocking chair. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light of the bedchamber. The moonlight streaming through the window did little to illuminate the room. Instead, it merely cast menacing shadows upon the English soldier, who writhed upon the bed, his white knuckled hands gripping the sheets.

Forcing her trembling hands to strike a match, Bella lit a candle. Tentatively, she approached the man, her heart pounding relentlessly. His body glowed translucently. Sweat glistened on his chest and beaded down his temples like liquidated diamonds. Every muscle in his body contorted in agony, taught and unyielding.

In his distress, he suddenly bolted upright, his eyes bursting open. The pupils nearly eclipsed his emerald irises and the whites were streaked with popped blood vessels.

He struggled to breathe, his fingers clawing at his throat in an effort to free his constricted windpipe.

Setting the candle upon the bureau, Bella gently grabbed a hold of the man's shoulders.

He regarded her curiously, as if he was looking through her.

"Elizabeth?" he croaked. "You've come back."

Tears welled up in his green eyes, overflowing onto his sallow cheeks as he saw the ghost of his dead lover in Bella's face.

Shock made Bella mute as she stared dumbly back at the delirious soldier, who was clearly experiencing a fever-induced nightmare.

Realizing that his "fiancee" did not recognize him, the man said, "Elizabeth, it is I, Edward. I know I've changed since last we met, but my love for you has not."

In an attempt to calm the mad man, Bella replied, "Of course I recall you my love. I was just so overcome with emotion upon seeing you that it struck me silent."

Cupping his sweltering cheek, Bella looked into Edward's eyes.

"You must rest now," she soothingly whispered.

Edward grasped her hand and squeezed with all the strength he could muster.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked.

Emotion overcame Bella as she positioned herself in the bed next to him.

"For as long as you need me," she whispered, smoothing back his damp hair.

Satisfied with her affirmation, Edward closed his eyes, his grip slightly loosening on her hand.

For a while, Bella just lay and watched him. Every rise and fall of his chest relaxed her. Eventually his metronomic breaths lulled her to hands were still intertwined; when her head fell to his shoulder.

* * *

The sounds of men laughing and cursing met his ears as he struggled to open his heavy eyelids. His head spun vertiginously as his blurry eyes strained to discern the figures before him. All he could make out was the shadows of men sitting around a roaring fire. The ambiguity and distortion of the images made his stomach lurch. Bile rose in his throat and his saliva had a metallic rusty taste. The flavor was familiar, one of which he had grown quite accustomed - blood. It explained the sudden throb in his jaw and the sensitive gap, his tongue had located where his incisor was once situated. He tried to bring his hand up to the affected area only to find both of them bound. He felt the rough skin of a rope slice into his wrists as he tried finagle his way out of it's grasp. His bare back ground against the merciless bark of an old oak, exacerbating his torture.

His unyielding restraints, caused him to howl in outrage, grabbing the attention of the men surrounding the campfire. A few of them stood and walked the few feet to where he sat. His eyes, which had begun to clear, regarded them with unbridled animosity. Their navy uniforms, styled not unlike his, accentuated their affiliation with the colonial army. They wore smug, self-righteous expressions on their wind burnt faces. The sense of superiority they felt, sickened the restrained man. The tallest one positioned himself slightly before the rest. He had an authoritative air about him and was, clearly, the leader.

"Ah, you're awake," he said with mock partiality. "I do hope you had a refreshing sleep. We were growing worried about you. You were out for quite sometime."

When the tethered man offered no means of a response, the leader continued.

"I've forgotten my manners. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Lt. Brown and this is Major Benson and Major Swan," he said, gesturing to the two men that respectively flanked him.

"What do you want?" the hostage asked his tone as cold as his icy blue eyes, which appeared coal black in the moonlight.

"Might I get your name before we begin negotiations?" asked Lt. Brown, his mellifluous voice as slippery as an eel.

"I am Corporal Dmitri Staviskov," the prisoner replied, venom dripping from his words.

"That's not an English name?"

"That's right," Dmitri replied in a condescending tone.

"You're accent though, _is _English," Lt. Brown continued, his patience unwavering.

"If you must know, my father was a Russian merchant and my mother an English schoolteacher. England is where I was born and England is where my loyalties lie."

A facetious smile appeared on Brown's ruddy face. "Alas, you have provided the perfect segue for our negotiations."

"Negotiations?" Dmitri asked, his brow raised.

"You see, if you want to keep breathing, your best bet is to do what I say. Answer all of my questions, respect my authority and perhaps, I will permit you to leave."

Dmitri choked on a laugh, "Do you honestly believe I'm going to tell you anything?"

All traces of humor vanished from Lt. Brown's face, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I ask the questions and you answer them, it is very simple. If not, I will have to resort to less...civilized means."

A stubborn look hardened onto Dmitri's handsome face. His lips were pursed tightly together and clenched teeth caused his jawbones to jut out prominently.

"I want to know where you're men are hiding?" Brown said, after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Dmitri replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Brown took a knee by Dmitri's side and grabbed him roughly by the hair. He jerked the man's head up until it was inches from his face. Dmitri could smell the stale odor of whiskey on the colonial's breath, causing his, already unsettled, stomach to squirm.

"Don't lie to me!" Brown hissed, digging his overgrown fingernails into Dmitri's scalp. "I know they're hiding somewhere near here!"

"They don't tell me anything. I'm just a foot soldier," Dmitri growled.

"Are you're men planning another attack soon?"

"I don't fucking know!" Dmitri shouted.

Brown's blue eyes bore into his for a moment, before he roughly released him, forcing his head into the tree trunk.

As his head swam with the impact, he heard Lt. Brown instruct Major Swan to, "Take care of it."

He knew exactly what the "it" was...him. He opened his eyes, just in time, to see a brown-headed ruffian place a pistol to his forehead. Then, his world went black.

* * *

The next morning, Bella awoke with a crick in her neck, due to the awkward position in which she spent the night.

Carefully, she lifted her head and looked over at Edward. His face looked serene, his breathing so slow, she, at first, feared him dead.

Placing a gentle hand upon his mildly perspired forehead, she discovered that his fever had broken.

With a sigh of relief, she abandoned her place on the bed. As she made her way to the door, a floorboard creaked obnoxiously.

Bella gritted her teeth and cautiously peaked over her shoulder.

Sure enough, the sound had disturbed her English companion and his eyes fluttered open.

Slowly, he turned his head to face her. Unsure of what to say, Bella smiled warmly at him.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the man appraised her quizzically.

After a moment of awkward silence, he spoke.

"Where am I?"

Clearing her throat, Bella made her way back to the bed.

"You're in my home. My name is Isabella Swan."

Edward continued to stare unblinkingly at her.

"How did I come to be here?" he asked, nonplussed.

"Well, when you came to me, you were bleeding. You had been shot in the chest. You also had an arm wound, but it appears that the bullet just grazed it."

Realization spread across Edward's face as he absentmindedly ran his fingers over the patch of raw skin on his chest.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Bella asked curiously.

The man furrowed his brow, "I remember looking for stragglers. I'm a doctor, so I was seeing if there were any men left behind that needed my care."

His expression darkened as a particularly disturbing memory resurfaced.

"I remember finding a colonial soldier beneath a tree…he had been caught in a cannon blast…he died in my arms."

Bella's face grew ashen as she listened to Edward's story.

"I'm sorry," he said, seeing the horror on her face. "I shouldn't have said that…it was crass."

"No," Bella said. "I'm glad that you at least remember something," though the green tinge to her face betrayed her.

For a moment, they just stared awkwardly at one another before Edward stated, "You saved my life."

"Actually, you told me what to do," Bella said, her cheeks flushed with chagrin.

Edward raised an eyebrow.

"You told me how to cater...cottar..."

"Cauterize?" Edward suggested.

"Yes, cauterize," Bella, said, her cheeks reddening further.

"Nevertheless, you had the fortitude to see it through," he said as he heaved himself into a sitting position. He waved off Bella's attempt to assist him, though the effort left him out of breath, his face etched with pain.

After he had regained composure, his eyes once again met Bella.

"Thank you again for saving my life Miss Swan. I am forever in your debt."

Extending his hand, he said, "Allow me to formally introduce myself, my name is Edward Cullen."

Bella allowed his long elegant fingers to wrap around her own.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Dr. Cullen."

Edward's lips curled up to form a smile, "Please, do call me Edward."

"As you wish Edward," Bella said, feeling slightly giddy.

Smirking slightly, Edward pulled his hand out of Bella's grasp.

A blush returned to her cheeks once she realized that the handshake had lasted longer than was customary.

"Surely, you must be hungry," she said, deflecting the awkwardness.

"Famished."

"Does coffee and hotcakes sound good?"

"Do you have any tea?"

Bella's brown eyes flashed her brow furrowing.

Edward held up his hands in mock surrender, "I was only joking," he said, laughter in his voice.

Relaxing a bit, Bella smiled, "That's good to hear, because if not, you might want to ask King George for some."

Edward's smile grew, "Well, in that case, I better stay here, or else I'd die of thirst."

He watched Bella leave the room, his grin never fading. Despite the throbbing ache in his arm and the stabbing pain in his chest, he felt more alive than ever. Perhaps, it was the whole near death experience phenomena that made him feel as such. Nevertheless, Isabella Swan had presented him with a second chance on life and he was ready to live it.


	8. Secret Pain

Chapter Seven

Secret Pain

"Come on," the man cried as he jabbed his booted foot into the horse's shoulder. Sensing his master's desperation, the black thoroughbred sped up, though his muscles screamed in protest. He knew exactly where to go. Ignoring the ache in his legs, he clambered up the steep precipice, his lungs threatening to explode with the effort. When he reached the crest of the hill, a sense of vitality overcame him. He gave a loud snort of determination, as he raced down the hill at a breakneck speed. The wind rushed through his black mane and the cool air felt wonderful on his hot sweaty skin. He could see his destination zooming before him as he skidded to a halt before it. He had journeyed to the large white house twice before, and both times his master had possessed the same unbridled torment. Within seconds of stopping, his load lightened and he watched as his master scaled the steps leading to the front door.

Robert Mason wiped the sweat from his brow and drew in a deep cleansing breath before rapping his knuckles on the door.

Inside, the inhabitants looked at each other in fear.

"Hide," Bella hissed. "Hurry."

She waited until Edward had made it safely upstairs before tentatively heading to the door. She placed her hands on the rough wood before forcing herself to open it.

Her visitor was a tall red-faced man of about twenty-five. His large sapphire eyes considered her as he nervously wrung his hands.

"Um, is Mrs. Swan in?" he asked in a deep raspy voice.

Bella felt a twinge of pain. Placing a hand over her aching heart, she said, "My mother died about six months ago."

The young stranger took his hat off, revealing a thick mane of blond hair, "I'm terribly sorry to hear that," he said.

Nodding her head, Bella said, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I don't know. You see, my wife is in a bad way. She's in dire need of a midwife."

The genuine look of fear on the man's face made Bella's heart throb even more.

"I'm so sorry Mr.?"

"Mason."

"Mr. Mason, I don't know anything about delivering babies."

"Oh, alright then..." the man said, clearly at a loss.

"I do," a man's voice said from within the house.

Bella's eyes widened as Edward descended the stairs. Joining Bella at the door, he said, "I'm a doctor."

"Thank God," Mr. Mason gasped. "Are you?"

"I'm Isabella's husband, yes," Edward interjected in a flawless colonial accent.

Bella tried her best to look at ease. She thought it wise to let Edward take the ropes for the time being. It was downright disturbing at how adept a liar he was.

"Do you have a horse?" Mr. Mason asked.

"Yes," Bella said, knowing Edward did not know the answer to that particular question.

"Wonderful! I'll wait for you on the hill; we should make it back to my place before sundown. Thank you so much for this," he said, holding out his hand.

Edward grasped it firmly, "Your welcome," he said his green eyes glowing with sincerity.

Replacing his hat, Robert strode back down the steps and remounted his horse. Tipping his hat at Bella, he clucked his orders to his steed before galloping off for the hill.

Closing the door behind her, Bella searched for Edward, whom had already withdrawn into the house to gather supplies. She finally found him digging in the linen cabinet upstairs, stuffing clean sheets and towels into a large knapsack. He nearly stumbled over her in his haste to collect the other necessities, completely unaware of her presence.

Taking the steps two at a time, Edward reentered the kitchen, Bella on his heels. Ignoring her intense stare, he rummaged through the cutlery drawer, stowing a couple of knifes and a pair of scissors in his bag.

When he finally met her gaze, he had everything packed.

"What?" he asked, in his normal accent.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to deliver a baby," he replied nonchalantly, double-checking to make sure he had everything.

"What if you slip up? What if they find out that you are English? They'll kill us both!"

Edward rolled his eyes, "Don't you think you're being a tad bit over-dramatic Bella?"

"You're impossible!" Bella lamented, storming from the room.

With a sigh of exasperation, Edward slung his bag of necessities over his shoulder, and went after her.

He found her sitting in the parlor, her arms crossed against her chest.

"You look like a stubborn pouting child," Edward commented.

"Why are you still here? Are you feeling better yet? You've been leeching off of me for the past two months!"

Edward took a step back, a wounded expression crossing his face.

"I thought you wanted me here?" he said softly.

Bella looked down at her feet defiantly, but immediately felt guilty.

"I'm sorry Edward... I'm just frustrated. I do want you here. I haven't had someone to talk to in a long time. I guess I'm just an unfriendly person."

Edward smiled, "You're not an unfriendly person, you're just moody."

Bella's smile immediately morphed into a frown, "What a sweetheart you are," she said, her voice oozing with sarcasm.

Laughing off the sour comment, Edward said, "Come on grumpy, we have a baby to deliver."

He extended his hand, waiting expectantly for Bella to take it.

After a lengthy pause, she accepted the gesture before following her "husband" out to the barn.

Located not a quarter of a mile behind the house, they briskly walked towards it. The ragged wind worn building was in desperate need of repair. Emmett had harbored plans to fix it but he had left before they had never reached fruition.

When they entered the dilapidated building, their ears were met with a chorus of equine vocalizations. A couple of the dairy cows looked up, but continued to chew on their cud, uninterested in the intruders. Bella led Edward over to the last stall at the back of the barn. Inside, standing at sixteen hands was Titan, the most reliable steed the Swan's owned.

The beast surely deserved the title Jasper had given him. A fan of Greek mythology, he had drawn a parallel between the mighty predecessors of the Olympians and the titanic creature.

Edward's eyes bugged out at the sheer mass of the animal he was meant to ride. Titan's obsidian eyes appraised Edward just as thoroughly, suspicious of the strange man's intentions. However, with a gentle stroke on the nose, Edward won the wild stallion's approval.

Bella smiled, relieved that the temperamental horse had taken so easily to its proposed master. She petted the ebony horse's silky coat, while Edward placed an elaborate leather saddle on his back. The horse remained calm, until it came time to place the metallic bit into his mouth. After nearly losing a finger, Edward managed to push the offensive metal into the unwilling recipient's mouth.

The horse snorted with indignation, knowing he had been beaten. He hung his head in emasculated shame as Edward lifted Bella onto his back. A glint in the animal's eye demonstrated that if Bella had not been riding pillion, he would have surely bucked Edward off.

After lithely swinging his leg over the horse's broad back, Edward took the reins. Pulling back slightly, he clucked in the language unique to the equestrian. Titan whinnied in defeat before begrudgingly following his rider's command. However, as soon as he exited the stuffy barn and entered the cool Virginian afternoon, his attitude changed. He gathered speed, eager to stretch his atrophying legs. Feeding off the excitement and nerves of his master, he snorted with exultation as he raced off towards the hill.

The sun had just begun to dip over the horizon when the party reached Mason's humble abode. The small log cabin had smoke rising from the chimney and on the front porch sat two small children and an old hound. Upon seeing their father, the children jumped up to meet him, while the dog refused to even lift his head at the commotion.

"Papa, mama's been hollering something fierce in there," the little blond boy said.

"Everything's going to be alright son," Robert declared, jumping down from his horse, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Papa, I'm scared," the little girl chimed in, before bursting into tears.

Mr. Mason scooped up the distraught child and stroked her mousy brown hair.

"Don't worry sweetheart, the doctor's here now," he said, nodding in Edward's direction.

Edward who had been helping Bella down from their towering steed perked at the statement.

As soon as Bella's feet were safely on the ground, he walked over to the blubbering child. She buried her face into her father's chest as the stranger approached them.

"It's o.k. Rebecca, this is Dr. Cullen," Mr. Mason said.

The little girl turned her face slightly.

"I'm going to take care of your mother," Edward vowed.

"You promise?" the little girl asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

"I promise," Edward replied, praying to God that he could keep that promise.

Blinking back tears, Walter set his daughter down. Gently grabbing her by the shoulders, he took a knee before her.

"Rebecca, I'm going to go inside with the doctor, ok? Will you and Willy stay out here and be brave for me?"

The siblings nodded in unison as they climbed back to their places on the porch, their big blue eyes following the three adults as they crossed the threshold.

The faint shrieks that could be heard from the yard were deafening inside the small house. Edward and Bella followed Mr. Mason to the back, where they were ushered into the stuffy bedroom he and his wife shared.

The anguished cries stopped as soon as the pregnant woman set eyes on her husband.

"Robert," she panted, holding out her arms to him.

Mr. Mason rushed to his beloved wife's side, cradling her in his muscular arms. He brushed her sweaty blond bangs out of her face and unabashedly placed a loving kiss on her full pink lips."Elizabeth, this is Dr. Cullen and his wife Isabella, she's Renee's daughter," Robert said after he finally extricated himself.

Edward felt his heart freeze at the sound of the name he had not heard in five years.

"Isabella," the woman said. "You look just like your mother. Is she well?"

Bella looked down at the wood plank floor, "She's dead ma'am."

Elizabeth Mason put a hand over her mouth, "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear..."

A sharp pain in her abdomen cut off her condolence. Her mouth widened in a silent scream as she grabbed her swollen stomach.

"Sweetheart?" Mr. Mason inquired with terror. He tightened his hold on her, grasping her hand.

"Robert, please wait outside. I don't want you to see me like this -" Elizabeth said her voice strangled with pain.

"I'm not leaving you," Mr. Mason replied defiantly.

"Mr. Mason, perhaps you should wait outside with the children," Edward suggested. "They're probably worried sick."

Robert Mason looked down at his agonized wife, his expression torn. To separate himself from her at such a trying time was physically painful. Yet, judging by Edward's suggestion, it was probably best he left it to his professional discretion. He was just about to comply, when William and Rebecca burst into the room, their tiny chests heaving with effort.

Willy's bright blue eyes sought out his father's brown ones.

"Papa!" he cried. "There are soldiers in red uniforms coming for us!"

"Oh my God," Bella exclaimed, clapping her hands over her mouth. She felt Edward's arm wrap instinctively around her waist, pulling her close to him. She sank into his embrace, feeling faint from the revelation.

"How far away are they?" Edward asked, trying in vain to sound indifferent.

"They are in heading in from the fields," the boy replied, his voice high-pitched.

"We have only minutes then," Mr. Mason said, looking at Edward meaningfully.

"We need to get them out of here," Edward articulated,

"The safest place would be the cellar," Robert said, his voice gruffer than usual.

Before Edward could respond, Mr. Mason moved to the foot of the bed. Reaching down, he grabbed a hold of the worn embroidered rug there and slid it out of the way. In its stead was the outline of a perfect square, large enough for a human to fit. Tugging on the square's small rope handle, a secret doo opened, revealing a black hole.

Mr. Mason turned to his trembling son.

"Hurry and lock the door," he ordered.

The child nodded before stumbling nervously from the room.

Turning to Edward, Mr. Mason said, "I'll head them off, just please, no matter what you hear, stay put."

"Robert...No!" Elizabeth wept.

"I'll be fine my love," Robert said, returning to her side. He placed a tender hand on her cheek, wiping away the tears there with the pad of his thumb. His other hand ghosted over her heaving belly, "I love you," he said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you too," she said, holding his hand to her face, before placing a tender peck on the palm.

The bittersweet exchange lasted for only seconds before Elizabeth's face contorted with agony. Her hands flew to her stomach, clutching at it. She twisted the nightgown that covered it into knots as she struggled through the pain.

"We need to get them down there," Edward said, answering Robert's thoughts.

"Come on, sweetheart," Robert soothed as he scooped up his wife's contorted body. He allowed Edward to precede him down the staircase with a freshly lit lantern. They took it slow, not wanting to underestimate the steep slope that led to the earthen bowels of the house.

As the lantern dimly illuminated the musty under-utilized room, Edward realized the gravity of the impending scenario. It was going to be his sole responsibility to keep a laboring woman silent, so as not to expose them all to his people's cruel sadistic torture. Childbirth was painful enough without having to endure it in secret.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs caused Edward to redirect his attention. Two eyes peeked over a mountain of fresh linen and pillows. Behind the ambiguous figure the little Mason's toddled. One carried Edward's bag of necessities, while the other merely clung to the figure's skirts.

Setting down her burden, Bella looked at Edward with trepidation.

"I'm frightened," she whispered in his ear as he began to walk past her.

He grabbed her clammy hand, "Don't be afraid," he assured. "We're safe down here."

She just looked back him, disbelief and apprehension marring her beautiful face.

Edward brushed the top of her hand lightly with his thumb, accentuating his certainty that they would make it through.

A thunderous knock from above shattered the intimacy. Edward's body straightened every muscle taut. He gritted his teeth, making his prominent jaw stand out all the more. Robert had the same demeanor. He looked over at Edward and gave an almost imperceptible nod, before hurrying up the stairs. He closed the cellar door behind him, casting the room in almost total darkness.

A sharp intake of breath in the corner made Edward nearly jump from his skin. He rushed over to Elizabeth's side and grabbed her shaking hand.

"Dr. Cullen, it hurts," Elizabeth whispered, the strain evident in her voice.

"I know Mrs. Mason, but for the sake of your husband you have to be silent."

As if in answer to his statement, the sound of the door opening above met their ears, followed by the distinct clipped dialect of English soldiers.


	9. Silenced

Chapter Eight:

Silenced

Beads of perspiration glistened at Robert's hairline and his heart beat at an irregular cadence. Drawing in a lungful of air, he wrapped his clammy fingers around the cool porcelain doorknob. Just as he began to open the door, the individual opposite the partition knocked. The rap ceased immediately as the visitor took notice of Robert standing in the door-frame. Tipping his tricornered hat, he smiled, revealing a gleaming set of sharp teeth. Standing at an astonishing six feet four inches, the man towered over Robert, making him feel like a child in comparison. The soldier's alabaster skin looked unnatural against the ruby red cloth of his uniform and not a speck of lint or dirt marred the immaculate fabric. From head to toe, he dressed with impeccable taste. His black boots shined like an onyx stone and his white stockings had nary a hole in them. At his waist, an ornate saber's handle peeked out from the top of its sheath. On the opposite side, a shiny silver pistol sat secured in its holster, loaded and ready to kill. He had long silvery blonde hair that he kept tied in a black satin bow behind his head. As sharp as his dress was, it was his steel blue eyes that captivated his audience. Their hue was almost unnatural as they bore into Robert's ordinary brown irises.

"Excuse me sir," the unsettling soldier said. "I am here to inquire if you might grant a few of his majesty's soldiers quarter for the night."

He gestured to the four men that flanked him. They looked past Robert, unwilling to make eye contact. It was obvious, that they were not wholeheartedly supportive of their superior officer's mission.

Robert Mason's eyes returned to the speaker.

"No, I don't have the room," he replied roughly, making to push the door closed.

The tall soldier's eyes glinted with malice, his gloved hand barring the door.

"I don't see why you must be so rude," he said his voice mellifluous.

"Remove your hand from my door," Robert growled, his teeth bared.

The soldier held up his hands in histrionic surrender, "I'm sorry to have upset you," he said in a sardonic tone.

"Is that all?" Robert inquired.

"No, not really, you see -"

The soldier roughly pushed past Robert, forcing himself into the house. The other men followed suit, though they looked torn about it.

"-we came here on an errand from the king. We have been _collecting, _so to speak, certain contraband items from the houses across this land."

"Contraband?"

"Yes," the soldier said, absentmindedly picking up an unclean glass from the counter, before replacing it with a disgusted look on his face. He brushed off the imaginary dirt the "filthy" cup had left on his white gloves, on the coat of the soldier standing closest to him. The soldier looked down at the spot, where the filth had been deposited, his nose wrinkled with disdain.

"We've come to collect any weapons, valuables, etcetera, that we deem necessary," the soldier continued.

"You are not taking anything from this house," Robert said with vehemence.

The soldier chuckled, further infuriating his host.

"Please, don't make this difficult Mr.?"

"None of your business."

"That's an unusual name. Is it French?" the soldier remarked snidely.

"Get out of my house," Robert rumbled, ignoring the man's sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. I'm only following orders...you understand-"

He paused, taking in Robert's rigid demeanor. "-Well, maybe not. You look like one who just floats through life, taking pride in their mediocrity."

"Go to Hell," Robert spat.

"Such anger for something so inconsequential," the soldier clucked, shaking his head in feigned disapproval.

Placing his hands behind his back, he turned about and began to stroll lackadaisically about the room, randomly picking up objects and appraising them. After a couple of minutes, he returned to his original spot and gave Robert a long hard look before saying, "Are you the only one here?"

"Yes," Robert lied, "my wife died about a year ago." Though it galled him to have to conjure up such a horrific tale, he knew it was for the best.

The soldier just looked at him, unblinking. No flash of sympathy lightened his features at the mention of Robert's wife's supposed death. Humanity no longer meant anything to him. Instead, blind acceptance and desensitization had created a monster out of a, once, decent human being.

"It hurts so much," Elizabeth whined, clutching Edward's forearm.

"I know dear," Edward said sympathetically, patting her knee.

"Please, just get the baby out," Elizabeth choked out as another contraction seized through her.

Edward peeked beneath that quilt that modestly covered her lower regions. With well-sterilized hands, he reached inside her, carefully checking her progress. His eyes widened when he discovered she was fully dilated.

"You're moving along faster than I expected," Edward said.

"What?" Elizabeth questioned, delirious from the pain.

"It's time for you to push, but you have to be quiet. If you need to, scream into the pillow."

Elizabeth nodded nervously as Bella helped prop her up.

"With the next pain, I need you to push," Edward said, his eyes locking with Elizabeth's in silent understanding.

Within seconds, Elizabeth's body tightened with the strain of the contraction. Leaning forward, she grasped her knees until the knuckles turned white and pushed. Her face turned a plum hue as she grunted through the pain.

"Good girl," Edward encouraged, after Elizabeth had fallen back against the pillows. "Again."

Grasping Bella's hand, Elizabeth groaned as sweat poured down her face.

"I can't do this much longer," she whimpered, as Bella dabbed her perspired forehead and neck with a cool cloth.

"Yes you can," Bella whispered, squeezing Elizabeth's hand to emphasize her assurance.

With weak acquiescence, Elizabeth surged forward, trying her damnedest to keep from crying out.

Seeing her mother's face contorted in agony made little Rebecca cry. She and her brother huddled in the corner as they witnessed the miraculous albeit traumatic sight.

Even through the haze of pain, Elizabeth could sense her children's disquiet.

"It's alright my darlings," she croaked. "Mother's going to be fine."

Just then, another spasm contorted her abdomen, making her cry out in surprise.

Gasping for air, she held onto her swollen belly, her eyes imploring Edward to end her suffering. Her hands fisted through the sheets, her fingers tangling in the fabric. She forcefully shoved her fist in her mouth as yet another unexpected spasm shot through her, augmenting the already unbearable pain. Biting down, hard enough on to draw blood, on her knuckle, Elizabeth pushed. The pain rendered her ears useless and the jumbled phrases Bella and Edward uttered were incomprehensible. Eventually, her fist fell from her lips and her mouth opened widely in a tremulous shriek.

"The baby's caught," Edward said, from somewhere in the darkness.

She could hear him now, yet his words still meant nothing to her.

"Just breathe, whatever you do don't push," Edward ordered.

Elizabeth couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, all she could do was feel the intense earth shattering pain.

Sweat dripped down Edward's face as he repositioned the baby, unhooking it from it's mother's pelvis. He let out a sigh of relief as the baby slipped back into the birth canal, free from the obstacle.

"O.k., push Elizabeth," Edward said, using his hands as a guide for the wayward child.

"I can't," Elizabeth said, her weary form slumping back against the makeshift bedding.

"Yes you can," Edward rebutted defiantly.

Bella wrapped her arms around Elizabeth's heaving form and offered words of encouragement, but Elizabeth's ears were once again deaf. As another pain came, her face screwed up and she clawed at the sheets. Instinct kicked in as she bore down. All sense had left her and when the cry threatened to rip from her chest, she was incapable of stopping it.

"God, help me! ROBERT!" she cried out.

Bella tenderly rubbed her back, "It will all be over soon," she soothed, but her voice was shaky. Her eyes met Edward's, wide and frantic. Both silently prayed the party above had not heard.

"What was that?" the soldier asked spinning around.

Robert's face went ashen. He had never hated the sound of his own name so much in his life and to hear it so desperately uttered, turned his blood to ice. In his head, he silently prayed that the English would be unable to find the cellar door. Even in his haste, he had remembered to re-cover it with the rug. Maybe, they would let it go, not waste the energy on seeking out a needle in a haystack.

"What was what?" one of the other officers asked.

"Be quiet," the soldier hissed.

"Dr. Cullen make it stop!" Elizabeth cried, her hands grasping wildly for something to clamp down on.

"There! That! Did you hear that?" the soldier said pointing down at the floorboards.

"No, I didn't hear anything," the officer that had answered before said.

"Well, go and make sure," the soldier ordered.

"Yes sir," the officer replied, an exasperated look on his face.

Unsheathing his sword to prove he was serious, the man left the room, heading towards the source of the sound he had pretended not to hear.

"You're almost there Elizabeth, I can see the head. Just push."

Burying her face in the pillow Bella had provided, Elizabeth shouted out her fear and agony.

"The head is out, don't push yet," Edward ordered, while he tried to clear the mucous from the baby's airways.

Holding the fragile head in his hand, Edward instructed Elizabeth to push once more.

Thankfully, the thick cotton muffled her screams if not, they would have caused the house to collapse with their power.

The last push freed the mewing baby from its mother and Edward caught it in a clean towel.

"It's a boy," he said, unable to contain his elation. Balancing the delicate being on his knees, he cinched the still pulsing umbilical cord with some twine before shearing through it with a pair of scissors. The baby's cries increased in volume, filling the small cellar. Swaddling the tiny creature, Edward handed him to his teary-eyed mother.

"Thank you Dr. Cullen," she said as she placed a kiss on the top of her son's head.

Edward was just about to reply when the sound of boots directly above their heads made him freeze. Not a breath was exhaled, in fear the person above would hear. Unfortunately, the newborn did not have the same discretion. He wailed loudly, making his company cringe in horror.

The footsteps above halted, followed by the sound of a carpet being slid across the floor. With a deafening creak, the cellar door opened, followed by the heavy thud of booted feet descending the staircase. The frightening sound made the baby cry even louder. Elizabeth held him close to her bosom, gently rocking him. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she hummed a soothing lullaby. William and Rebecca, whom had ran over to their mother's side upon hearing the unwelcome sound, clung to her skirts, their eyes wide with horror. Meanwhile, Edward stood upright, his back rigid as he shielded Bella behind him.

A flash of crimson caught their eyes as the intruder entered the dimly lit room. The soldier's eyes briefly scanned the faces of the occupants, before locking on Edward's. Recognition donned on both of their faces, though Edward tried to disguise his as trepidation.

With a clearing of the throat, the soldier nodded, mumbled his congratulations, mixed in with what sounded like an apology, to Elizabeth and clambered back up the staircase. From above, they could hear the door being closed and the carpet being returned to its place.

"Lt. Prescott? What did you find?" the overzealous commander asked, when the other officer re-entered the room.

"The window was open in the back room and the shutters were banging about."

Samuel had made the decision to lie, prior to finding the secret inhabitants. However, nothing could have prepared him for finding his best mate with them. It appeared Edward had found happiness again. His face looked healthier, his aura lighter than he last remembered. Surely, he had taken to the simplicity of colonial life and for that, he saluted him. He wished to God he could abandon ship, but his soul had already been sold and there was no chance of buying it back.

"Are you certain?" the imposing soldier asked.

"I swear on my father's life," Samuel said. Colonel Wilkes did not have to know that his father had been gone for nearly a decade, a victim of the all-consuming drink.

"Well then," Colonel Wilkes said, looking slightly chagrined. "Our work here is done. Let's move it on out men," he ordered, his bass voice reverberating off the walls.

The men looked more than willing to oblige and quickly filed out the door. Following them, Robert stood in the doorway and watched as they mounted their horses and rode off into the twilight.

After bolting the door steadfastly behind him, Robert hurried to the back of the house. Sliding the, slightly, off-kilter rug out of the way, he swung open the door and raced down the rickety steps.

His eyes struggled to adjust to the change in light. As they refocused, he took in the most perfect scene. There, lying back against a bed of throw pillows was his beloved wife. In her arms, she cradled a small bundle, which she gazed down at in absolute wonder and love.

"Daddy!" a little girl's voice shouted.

Elizabeth, Edward, Bella, and William looked up at the interjection just as Rebecca raced towards her father. Jumping into his arms, the little girl wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, clinging to him, refusing to let go.

"I told you I would come back," Robert said, catching his wife's eyes. She smiled weakly at him, tears welling in her blue eyes. Stroking his daughter's chocolate tresses, Robert's eyes met Edward's, "They're gone," he said.

Edward nodded, "Thank god."

"Indeed," Robert said, kissing his daughter on the cheek. Redirecting his attention, he said, "Let's go see your new sister."

"Brother," Rebecca corrected.

Robert's breath caught in his throat. "A son?" he mouthed at his wife, who nodded, a huge grin crossing her face.

Setting his daughter down and taking her tiny hand, he walked over to the spot where his wife lay. Kneeling down he placed a tender kiss on her rosy cheek, before saying, "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_," Elizabeth said, her voice soft on account of the sleeping cherub.

"What a plump little man he is," Robert said, stroking the baby's fat cheek with his index finger.

"He's going to be a strapping gentleman like his father."

"What shall we name him?"

"I was thinking Edward Robert...Edward Robert Mason."

Edward's eyes tore off Bella, at whom he had been directing his attention.

"Mrs. Mason, I...I"

Elizabeth shook her head, "Dr. Cullen, if it was not for you, I do not think I would be here right now."

A smile spread across Edward's face. "Thank you," he said, genuinely moved by the tribute.

"Dr. Cullen," Robert said, holding out his hand. "I couldn't imagine a world without my wife. Thank you so very much for coming."

"You're welcome," Edward said, clearly unaccustomed to the gratuity.

Mr. Mason released his hand, his demeanor slightly awkward as well. Returning to his wife's side, his eyes, once more, glued onto his baby's peaceful face.

Feeling detached from the tranquil scene, Edward said, "If you'll excuse us, I think Mrs. Cullen and I will take our leave now.

He figured it impolite to impose now that he had finished his mission.

"Nonsense," Mr. Mason said. "It's dark, you must stay. It's too dangerous to venture outside."

"We really don't want to impose," Bella said, echoing Edward's sentiments.

"Please," Mrs. Mason said. "It would make us sleep easier if you stayed."

Edward sighed, "If you insist," he said, smiling weakly.

"We do," Mr. and Mrs. Mason, chorused in unison.


	10. Brethren

Chapter Nine:

Brethren

The fall was inevitable. With his hands tied behind his back, he could not right himself if he stumbled and stumble he did. His boot caught an uprooted branch and he went hurtling forward. His chest hit the ground first, knocking the wind from his lungs, followed by his face. Jagged rocks dug into the soft flesh of his stubble coated cheeks, a few even making it into his mouth. He spat out the inedible gravel, a metallic aftertaste on his tongue. After a few seconds of coughing and gagging, he realized the tangy flavor came not from the rocks, but the oozing wounds they had left. A broken molar lay in a bloody chunk mere centimeters from his sweaty face and he groaned in pain. He tried to right himself, but the binds around his wrists were unrelenting, rubbing into his flesh with every struggle.

"Here, let me help you," a familiar voice sneered.

A large hand grabbed his collar, roughly yanking him to his feet. Choking, the captive looked at his aggressor with narrowed eyes, his hatred for the man obvious.

"Keep moving, we don't have all day," the man's sidekick said, poking the colonial foot soldier in the small of his back with the tip of his bayonet.

To parry off the chance of being stabbed, the colonial continued forward, his eyes trained on the ground; to prevent future falls.

When the sun had completely disappeared behind the mountains, the small party reached their destination.

The colonial's stomach squirmed in anticipation. All around him, Redcoats wandered about. They didn't act very differently from himself or any of the other soldiers, of the Continental Army, for that matter. Some sat by a, recently lit, campfire sharing a pint and telling tales of girls they had romanced and battle scars they had earned. Others limped about, their eyes glazed and detached from their surroundings. One soldier, sat, his back propped up against a tree, reading a book by lantern light. Squinting his eyes, the colonial made out the words C...A...N...D...I...D...E... brandished on the cover. Recognition of the name triggered a bittersweet memory. As a young teenager, the colonial had purposefully spilled tea on his brother's copy of Voltaire's great work. In some way he had angered him and to exact revenge, he ruined his brother's most prized possession. However, if his brother had known that the book connected him with the likes of an Englishman, he would have happily destroyed the literary masterpiece himself.

Despite being engrossed in the Frenchman's profound words, the Brit could feel eyes burning into his bowed head. To shake off the odd feeling, he looked up, his eyes locking with those of the colonial. As quickly as they exchanged glances, they ended them, abruptly looking elsewhere, the Englishman at his book and the colonial at the starlit sky.

Once again, a rough hand pushed the colonial forward with enough force to make him fall a second time. A chorus of laughs erupted from the camp, some sounded forced, but the majority were hearty cackles. Blushing with indignation, the colonial was pulled to his feet, his eyes meeting those of his hecklers. From the cacophonous crowd, a tall sinewy man emerged, his face lacking expression. If his lips had not opened to formulate speech, the colonial would have concluded the man's face was actually chiseled marble. The moonlight made his translucent skin glow, accentuating his corpselike appearance. In the darkness, his eyes looked onyx, but they were probably blue otherwise.

"I see you've brought me a guest," the eerie man said, directing his gaze at the soldier restraining the colonial.

"Yes Colonel," the man sneered, obviously enjoying the attention.

"Well, bring him to my tent; I want to talk to him."

"As you wish sir," the soldier said, disappointed that the colonel did not shoot the man right on the spot.

The jeerers disbanded when they realized that the show was over. Returning to their various activities, they ignored the colonial soldier completely even as he was dragged to the colonel's tent at the other end of the camp.

The tent was lavishly decorated, unlike any tent inhabited by the Continental officers. A long table adorned with food, in the tent's center, made the colonial's mouth water. Apples, oranges, pears, bananas, and grapes overflowed from a large wicker basket. Beside it, a large loaf of bread, free of mold or insects sat, a stick of butter on its right. Ham, sliced to perfection sat in the table's center, a large bowel of sweet corn next to it. . At the end of the table sat a platter of sugar cookies, golden and undoubtedly savory. The glorious spread was fit for a king, probably because the king sent it. But, the colonial did not care where the food came from; he just wanted to partake in the feast.

"I see your eyes on my dinner," the colonel's voice said.

The colonial just looked at him, unsure of what to say.

"Would you like to join me?"

For a moment, the colonial pondered the idea. What if the food was poisoned? What if it was only set out to entice him and ultimately kill him? Still, why would the English waste all of those resources to kill one colonial? Deciding the latter was the most accurate, the colonial nodded his head.

"Wonderful," the colonel replied, with feigned enthusiasm. "Undo his binds," he ordered the soldier, who still hung behind the colonial.

"But sir," the man started to protest.

"Just do it," said the colonel in a tone that ended all debate.

Begrudgingly, the man sliced through the rope, making sure to nick the colonial several times in the process. Looking down at his sore wrists, the colonial could see the rope's imprint seared into the flesh.

"Wait outside Collins," the colonel ordered the disgruntled soldier.

The soldier faltered slightly, confused by his commander's dismissal of him. With reluctance, he took his leave, while the colonel gestured to the table.

Taking a seat at the west end of the table, the colonial's nose inhaled the wafting aromas of the freshly prepared bounty. Opposite him, the colonel sat, grabbing an apple from the basket. Withdrawing a knife from his belt, the man carved into the fruit with the dexterity and precision of a sculptor. The colonial watched in silent bemusement as the odd man shaved away the red skin, exposing the whitish inside. Setting his knife down, the colonel injected his sharp incisors into the scalped fruit. Juices from the supple produce dribbled down his chin, shining in the lantern light. Using a cloth napkin to wipe the liquid away, the colonel took notice that his guest was not eating.

"Please, help yourself," he said, with a disarming smile.

Chagrined, the colonial reached for a piece of ham and took a tiny bite. The savory flavor ignited his repressed hunger pains; he ripped a hunk of bread from the loaf, scooped some corn onto his plate and grabbed a handful of cookies.

The colonel tried to hide his disgust as the abhorrent colonial shoveled the food down his gullet. The fiend behaved like a barbarian, uncivilized and repugnant. However, the English Colonel kept the antipathy to himself. The colonial had answers that the colonel sought and he thought it wiser to smoke them out with honey instead of vinegar.

After the colonial had eaten his fill, the colonel broached the topic he wished to discuss.

"My sources have informed me; that you are a dispatch rider."

The colonial looked up, his face ashen.

"What is your name?" the colonel pressed, hoping to warm up the ambivalent man.

"Corporal Hale," the man said.

"Well, Corporal Hale, maybe you can explain something that has bothered me for quite some time."

The corporal remained stoic, refusing to utter a word until he figured out the colonel's tactics.

"I sent an important package to the camp of General Cornwallis. His company told me that he never received such a parcel. My sources say that a colonial dispatch rider intercepted the package before it reached the intended."

Sweat coated Corporal Hale's palms as he tried to process the accusation. Should he confess and risk dying, while simultaneously betraying his compatriots or should he withhold the incriminating admission, throw himself on the sword for the sake of his struggling state.

Deciding on the latter he said, "I know nothing of this thievery you speak of."

The colonel's blue eyes narrowed, his brow deeply furrowed. Hale tried to focus on the shadowed crease on the man's forehead, his mother's chiding words from a time long ago echoing in his ears.

"_Don't frown! When you get older, you'll have a deep-pitted line etched in your forehead! Is that what you want?"_

For a brief moment, Hale wondered if the colonel's mother had ever scolded him for the very same crime.

"I believe you know more than you are letting on," the colonel accused, interrupting the colonial's non sequitur thoughts.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you," Hale said, signifying his cessation of the conversation.

"I had a feeling you would say that," the colonel said. "COLLINS," he bellowed, causing Hale to flinch with surprise.

The formerly banished soldier reentered his demeanor still dyspeptic.

"Yes sir?" he asked with an air of attitude.

Ignoring the insubordination, the colonel ordered, "Summon Lt. Prescott."

"As you wish sir," Collins said, turning on his heel.

Collins must have all but run to collect the lieutenant for he returned in record time.

"You summoned me Colonel Wilkes?" Samuel reiterated in his slow yet proper drawl.

"Yes," Colonel Wilkes said standing. He cast a dark look in Corporal Hale's direction before saying, "It would appear that this colonial guerilla has ascertained some confidential dispatches of ours. He of course, denies everything."

Samuel looked at the young colonial, recognition lighting his face. Hale's eyes reflected the same insight, yet they kept the consensual familiarity to themselves.

"I suppose you would like me to talk to him," Samuel said, sounding bored as if he was merely humoring the colonel.

"Precisely," Wilkes responded, in his stuffy tight-lipped manner. He darted his eyes between the two men for a moment before saying, "I'll leave you two alone then."

With a self-satisfied smirk, he retreated from the tent, followed closely by Collins, who practically nipped at his heels like a hyperactive terrier.

When Samuel was certain Wilkes was out of earshot he sat down opposite Hale and said, "What's your name?"

"Jasper," the colonial answered wary of the lieutenant's intentions.

"That's my nephew's name," Samuel said, lighting a cigar. He offered one to Corporal Hale, but the young man graciously declined.

"You're the better man for it. My best mate Edward apprehended me constantly. Told me it would kill me."

Jasper chuckled; despite the lieutenant's mission, he liked him. He felt a certain affinity towards the man he had seen reading _Candide _not an hour before.

"Of course, Eddie also chided me for drinking too..." Samuel's voice tapered off at the end and he looked down at the ground before taking a long draw from his cigar.

Blowing out a puff of smoke, he said, "I don't even want to be here."

Perplexed by the revelation, Jasper just looked at him. He watched as Samuel roughly exhaled a cloud of smoke and stood, pacing back and forth.

"What's your real name?" Samuel asked after a few minutes silence.

"I...I," Jasper stammered, surprised the lieutenant had seen right through his carefully constructed charade.

"It doesn't matter, I just -"

"It's Emmett," the colonial said. "Jasper's my older brother's name."

"I suppose you and your brother are not close then?" Samuel said, resuming his place at the table.

"What makes you think that?" Emmett asked, his tone slightly biting.

"I just think it odd that a man toss his brother's name into a boiling pot instead of some unaffiliated character."

Emmett huffed and ran his fingers through his messy brown hair.

"My brother isn't exactly the best role model."

Zeroing in on the disgust tainting the young colonial's words, Samuel said, "Why do you hate him so much?"

Laughing, half from exhaustion, half from annoyance, Emmett said, "Why do you care?"

Samuel smiled wryly.

"I'm just curious."

Picking at an imperfect section of the table where the wood had splintered, Emmett divulged, "My brother has done some truly evil things. He has hurt so many people, yet my family still stood by him, still cherished him, especially my mother."

Instead of adding his two cents, Samuel remained silent taking intermittent puffs from his potent cigar.

"I think I am the only one in the family who is not in denial. I have seen Jasper's true colors and I hate him for showing them to me. I don't care that he is my brother."

"Have you talked to your family about this?" Samuel asked his tone sympathetic.

"I can't," Emmett revealed. "My mother is dead, my father is God knows where, and my sister...well, my sister thinks Jasper is some sort of hero..."

"Have you tried to talk to your sister?"

Emmett sighed, "No, I don't have the heart to tell her what Jasper did."

"What exactly did he do?"

"He sold his soul," Emmett said, his voice cold and emotionless.

Samuel felt a chill run down his spine at the young man's declaration.

"Is that why you left home? You can't be more than seventeen."

"I'm eighteen," Emmett said defensively. He was sick to death of people belittling him because of his youth.

"I'm sorry," Samuel softly said. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm just tired of people treating me like I'm a kid, like I'm worthless."

"I don't think you're worthless."

The two men just sat there, neither knowing how to continue the conversation. Samuel knew it was only a matter of time before the impatient colonel returned, demanding results. Results, he would never receive.

"I'm about to do something that I've never done before," Samuel finally said.

Leaning towards Emmett, he whispered so softly, none of the eavesdroppers outside the tent could possibly hear.

"Have you ever acted before?"

"What?" Emmett murmured. "No."

"I need you to try," Samuel whispered, his blue eyes boring into Emmett. "It's imperative that you play along or my plan will never work."

"Your plan?"

"You're just going to have to trust me."

What nefarious plan did the English lieutenant have in mind? Would it behoove him to place his faith in the hands of the enemy? Still, despite his misgivings, he believed Samuel.

"I trust you."


	11. Moving Forward

Chapter 10:

Moving Forward

"Who was Elizabeth, Edward?"

Eyes widening, Edward looked up from his book. How did Bella know about Elizabeth?

Noting the surprised look on his face, Bella said, "You called out for her…the night I found you."

With a sigh, Edward ran his long fingers through his hair.

"Elizabeth was my fiancée."

When Bella did not say anything, he realized he would have to divulge more…more than he wanted.

"She died of consumption about five years ago."

Looking down at her knitting, Bella finally said, "Is that why you joined the army?"

"Of course not," Edward snapped, abruptly rising from his chair.

He stalked over to the window, surprised by the harshness of his tone. Tears welled up in his eyes and before he could stop them, they were overflowing down his cheeks. Burying his face in his hands, he did not even hear Bella approach him. He was unaware of her presence until she placed a tender hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Edward. I did not mean to upset you."

"It's not your fault," Edward choked. "I just thought I had escaped my past. What a fool I am."

Bella pulled on his arms until he was facing her. Looking up at him she said, "You are not a fool, just a sad young man. Just tell me. What are you running from?"

"Everything…"

When it became obvious that Bella would not back down, Edward returned to his seat.

"Alright, I will tell you everything, but you may not want me around when I'm finished."

Bella just stared at him imploringly.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Edward began, "It all started on a wintry December night, five years ago."

_With every tick of the grandfather clock, Edward felt his patience ebb. It seemed like an eternity had passed since his father had been ushered into Elizabeth's room. Running his fingers through his untidy bronze hair, he abruptly stood, nearly upending the chair in which he had been sitting. Absentmindedly, he strode to the window, pulling back the white curtain. Outside, the snow had begun to fall heavier and the wind had picked up speed. He could hear its lonesome howl faintly through the window's thick glass. Letting the curtain fall back into place, he wandered back into the hall. In the corner by the door, both his and his father's coats and hats hung neatly on a rack. A lone candle flickered on the china cabinet opposite the door. Above it, a familiar face looked down at him. Despite their humble means, the Beauparlant family had commissioned the painting for their youngest daughter. Elizabeth looked radiant. A faint blush colored her cheeks and her sapphire eyes sparkled. Her likeness lightened the room despite the somber ambience of the evening. _

"_Edward?"_

_Jumping slightly at the unexpected interruption, Edward turned to face his father._

"_What is it?" he asked without hesitation._

_Carlisle's face fell. Gripping the edge of the bureau, Edward said, "Father?"_

"_I'm afraid it's tuberculosis, Edward."_

_Edward fell back against the bureau nearly knocking over the candle in the process. Carlisle was by his side in an instant, taking his arm and leading him back to the parlor. _

_Shutting the door behind them, he took a seat on the chaise, while Edward stood with his back to him by the window. _

_The two men were silent for several minutes before Carlisle said, "Why didn't you tell me?"_

_He took Edward's silence for admission to guilt and continued, "She lost it."_

_Tears came to his eyes as he watched his son's body shudder. Standing, he walked over to him placing a hand on his shoulder. _

"_It's for the best, Edward. She's far too weak to carry a child to term."_

_After a couple of minutes of silent weeping, Edward wiped his eyes with his sleeves and asked in a raw choked voice, "Will she live?"_

_He knew, as well as his father, the answer, but he still had to hear the words._

"_I'm afraid not son. Consumption is fatal."_

"But I couldn't live without her, so…"

"_Edward you can't do this!" Carlisle cried._

_I have to get away from here, father! Everywhere I go reminds me of her!"_

"_Son, you're going to have to accept the fact that she's gone! She's not coming back!"_

"_GO TO HELL!" Edward screamed before storming off into the night._

"I didn't know where I was going or what I was going to do. When the cold became too much, I stopped at the first warm place I could find. It just happened to be the military barracks. They happily took me in for they were in desperate need of a doctor. Two months later, I was on a ship heading for America. I never saw my father again. After about a year of patching up men on the battlefield, I had become numb to everything in my past. That was until the letter came that forever held me accountable, suffocating me with guilt."

"_Edward?"_

"_Hmm?" he replied not looking up from his book._

"_The dispatch rider just left. He gave me a letter for you," Samuel said._

_Roused from his intent reading, Edward snatched up the letter. Ripping open the envelope, he carefully unfolded the parchment. His eyes immediately beheld a familiar flourish._

_ Edward,_

_ If you are reading this, than I am gone. You are the patriarch of the family now. It is your duty to take care of your sisters. I feel I have made a grave mistake with their matches. The incompetence of both their husbands grieves me and I need to know that they are safe._

_ I never asked for much, so consider this my final request. Return to England, watch over _

_ your sisters. You have always been so levelheaded in the past. Do not stop now. I also _

_ want to apologize…for Elizabeth. I wish I could have done more for her. I am truly sorry_

_ and I love you._

_ Love, Father_

"I don't have to tell you that I never went back; which made me feel all the more responsible for what happened a few months later."

For several moments, Edward was silent, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Bella felt her own tears begin to fall at the sight of the man she had grown fond of in so much pain.

"I received word that my older sister Alice had died in childbirth along with the baby…and my little sister Rosalie…"

A low moan escaped Edward's lips as he, once more, buried his face in his hands.

Bella walked over and threw her arms around the weeping man. She gently stroked his hair and whispered soothingly in his ear.

"Rosalie was murdered…by her very own husband," Edward croaked, turning and burying his face into Bella's lavender scented hair.

"You must be disgusted with me now," Edward moaned.

"No," Bella said, forcing him to look at her. "I think I love you now."

Blinking back tears, Edward said, "How can you possibly love someone like me?"

"Edward, you are a good man. Your only sin was allowing grief to overcome you. You did what anyone would do to escape the pain. How can I blame you for being human?"

"Bella, you are one of a kind. I have been trying to bury my affections for you for months. I felt that by admitting my love for you I was somehow betraying Elizabeth, but I think she would be happy. She wanted me to move on with my life. I was just unable to, until this moment."

With that, he pressed his lips against Bella's as she melted into his embrace.


	12. False Idols

Chapter 11

False Idols

Heavy pants filled the room as Edward and Bella's kissing escalated into a desperate display of passion. Not once did their lips separate as their hands explored and sought contact with the other's bare heated flesh. Goosebumps erupted across their skin as the other caressed places that ignited their desire even more. Edward's hand had just discovered the supple texture of Bella's upper thigh, albeit through the restraints of her bloomers, when a knock resounded from the front door. Groaning in frustration, Edward threw back his head. Chagrined at their impulsivity, Bella's cheeks erupted in a rosy blush. She quickly smoothed her disarrayed hair and dress, before heading to the door.

"Wait," Edward, hissed trying to hide his obvious arousal.

Catching sight of the, rather large, bulge in his trousers, made Bella redden even more. She immediately averted her gaze before saying, "I'm sure it's fine. It's probably just one of the neighbors."

Another knock made them both jerk their heads in the door's direction. Noting that his issue had resolved itself, Edward followed Bella to the door, making sure to grab the rifle on his way.

They both held their breath as Bella eased open the door. The man on the other side nearly toppled over her; such was his haste.

"Robert!" Bella exclaimed, horrified by his appearance. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes and his cheekbones jutted out prominently, giving him a skeletal look. Not only did he look fifteen pounds lighter, but also his demeanor suggested he had lost all hope. His shoulders slumped forward and his legs shook out of sheer exhaustion.

"Mrs. Cullen, Dr. Cullen," Robert panted. "Please, come right away. Elizabeth's real sick."

He swayed violently, clutching at the doorframe. Edward managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

"Mr. Mason, talk to me, what's going on?" he asked.

"Elizabeth…she hasn't been right since the birth. At first, we thought she…was just…tired, but now…she can barely move and she's feverish."

"When's the last time you slept?" Edward asked concern in his voice.

"I don't quite remember," Robert said.

"Do you think you can make it back to your house?"

"I've gone this long."

"Let me make you some coffee," Bella offered.

"No please…there's no time. Elizabeth…I'm afraid…" tears began to fall down Robert's gaunt cheeks, before he hurriedly brushed them away.

"Let's go then," Edward said.

When they reached the Mason house, it was nearly midnight. Smoke curled from the chimney and the windows glowed with light. To an outsider, the home looked cheery, perfect, but Edward had no idea what horrors awaited within the walls.

Robert had been right. Time was of the essence. Elizabeth's breathing had begun to slow, becoming more and more shallow. Her fever had reached a dangerous peak and her pulse was much too quick. It did not take long before Edward realized; that he could do nothing. She had obviously contracted an infection during her weakened state, an infection that had raged on to the point of uncontrollability.

Dread filled his stomach as he returned to the small kitchen, where the entire Mason family, William, Rebecca, Robert, baby Edward in his arms, and Bella sat around the large oak table.

They all started at his entrance, the grimace on his face revealing far too much.

"Please don't say it," Robert whispered.

Edward, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed, unable to create force behind his words.

As if on cue, baby Edward began to wail. Bella held out her arms, willingly accepting the tiny bundle as Robert went to be with his beloved.

For a while, the four of them just sat there. Bella busied herself with keeping the baby calm and Edward tried his best to occupy the children by telling them stories about fairies and princesses.

An hour passed before Robert returned, his face swollen from weeping.

"Elizabeth wants to talk to you, Bella."

Surprised, Bella handed the baby back to Robert, before retreating to Elizabeth's familiar bedchamber.

There, Elizabeth sat propped up, her long blonde tresses cascading down the pillows. She looked beautiful even in her fragile state. Her closed eyes fluttered open upon hearing Bella enter.

Smiling weakly, she gestured for Bella to take a seat in the chair next to the bed.

The two women did not speak for several minutes, until Elizabeth said, "I have something very important to tell you…it's about your brother."

Bella perked up, "Emmett?" she asked.

"No, Jasper."

Jasper…she had not spoken his name for a long time. Hearing it caused a levy in her brain to break, inundating her consciousness with bittersweet memories.

"What about him?" she asked, trying to shake off the sudden sadness that plagued her.

"I don't know how to begin…but I know you deserve to know the truth."

Clutching her chest, Elizabeth continued, "Your brother and I were in love at one point in our lives. We were young and impulsive, not really thinking about the ramifications of our actions. When I discovered I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I was a naïve girl of seventeen and I believed I was going to be with Jasper for the rest of my life. However, when I told him the news, those dreams were immediately shattered. He became distant, refusing to talk to me for weeks at a time. Finally, I confronted him, my condition was becoming increasingly more difficult to hide and I had to come up with a plan. If Jasper did not marry me, my parents would surely disown me. Marriage though, was the furthest thing from his mind. He told me he was going to enlist and planned to leave that night. I was heartbroken but, fortunately, a friend of Jasper's heard about my plight and came to my rescue."

"Robert," Bella whispered, still dumbstruck by the horrific tale.

Elizabeth nodded, "He's a wonderful man. I did not love him at first. It was more a marriage of necessity than anything, but with time, I came to adore him. When he came to my aid, he already had two kids, no …Willy and Rebecca are not mine," she said noticing Bella's confused expression.

"Then…" Bella said, utilizing process-of-elimination. "…little Edward is…"

"…your nephew," Elizabeth finished.

"I can't…" Bella said, unable to fathom the complex truth.

"Bella," Elizabeth said, her voice growing weaker. "I know you love your brother and don't want to believe that he's capable of these things…but I swear to the good Lord I am telling the truth."

"I believe you," Bella whispered, tears starting to well up in her eyes.

"Here, I want you to have this," Elizabeth said, pressing a gold locket into Bella's palm. "It actually belongs to your family, anyways."

Looking down, Bella gasped. Her mother had been looking for this very same necklace the night before she fell ill. It had belonged to her grandmother, her father's mother. Before Anna Swan had died, she had given the locket to Renee, claiming she had no surviving daughters and Renee was the closest she had ever had. Tears of anger leaked down Bella's face. How Jasper could have stolen something so dear to their mother's heart and given it to a woman, he didn't even love? Taking a deep breath, so as not to take out her frustrations on a dying woman, Bella began to say, thank you, but no one heard her. Elizabeth was gone.

The look on Robert's face when she reentered the kitchen made the tears fall even heavier. He stumbled from the room, closing the bedroom door behind him. His heart wrenching wails reverberated off the walls, rendering the whole party speechless. Edward's face was a guilt-ridden mask. He had thought by saving Elizabeth's life, he would redeem himself from the sins of his past, but, once again, he had failed. Still, he could not allow himself to continue to wallow in self-pity. For the sake of his and Bella's fledgling relationship, he had to move forward.

When Robert Mason finally returned, the children had fallen asleep, including baby Edward. Looking down at his adopted son, a smile passed over his face. One could not help but smile around the pudgy-cheeked cherub. He gently stroked the baby's cheek and downy head, before turning his attention to Edward.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he accused, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry?" Edward said, taken aback.

"You're fucking English! You killed my wife!"

When Edward tried to protest, Robert lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar.

"Robert, stop!" Bella cried.

Half mad with grief, Robert threw Edward back against the table, pinning him there, his iron grasp around Edward's neck unwavering. Helplessly, Edward kicked trying to aim for Robert's groin, but the elder man had far more strength. Soon Edward's face began to change hues, first red, then blue, and finally purple from the lack of oxygen.

Frantic, Bella started punching Robert in the back, futilely trying to remove his strong hands from Edward's throat.

"You're hurting him!" Bella shrieked.

The children, roused from their slumber, stared agape at the dramatic display. Baby Edward began to scream, but Robert would not relent.

Deep guttural sounds emitted from Edward's stifled trachea and his eyes began to close in defeat.

"No!" Bella cried, hurtling into Robert with as much force as she could muster.

The suddenness of the impact forced Robert to loosen his grip. Immediately taking advantage of the leeway, Edward rolled off the table, coughing and gagging, gasping for breath.

"Edward!" Bella exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him and helping him to his feet.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bella hissed, turning to Robert, tears of relief running down her cheeks. "He only tried to help."

"He's English," Robert panted, pointing an accusatory finger at Edward.

"No he is not!" Bella said defiantly.

"Don't lie to me girl! I heard him slip; when he was talking to you!"

Edward, who's breath, had finally returned to him, said, "I am English, but I would never do anything to hurt your wife."

Bella's grip on Edward's arm tightened as Robert stepped closer. His eyes bore into Edward's, their faces not two inches apart.

"If you really love Bella, you'll go back. You will return to whatever camp you escaped from."

Turning to Bella he affirmed, "Jasper will kill him. I hope you are not naïve enough to assume otherwise."

With that, he cast them into the night, before slamming the door shut behind them.


End file.
